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EDITED  BY  J.CUNNINGHAM. 


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PUnLTSllEI)    BY  LANG.  c\'  LAIN  G, 

(L'tt|]raTnn*c.  CUljnqrapljrVov^jJnuinT.. 

117, FULTON    STRtET,     N.Y. 

•  I860.. 


Mat  ^imi^. 


Hail,  Caledonia!  land  of  song  and  «tory, 

Land  of  the  fair,  the  virtuous  and  the  brave ! 
The  brightest  star  that  sheds  on  thee  its  glory 

Rose  from  the  darkness  of  thy  Burns's  grave  : 
That  star  shall  be  a  light  among  the  nations 

When  prouder  orbs  have  faded  and  grown  dim, 
And  hailed  with  pride  by  coming  generations, 

For  man  yet  knows  not  all  he  owes  to  him. 


T-R 

43: 

N4 

/Jfi'S 

His  strains  have  nerved  the  feeble  'gainst  oppression, — 

Aroused  in  true  men's  hearts  a  scorn  of  wrong, — 
Pointed  the  hopeless  to  man's  sure  progression. 

And  taught  the  weak  to  suffer  and  be  strong. 
Lessons  like  these  the  soul  of  man  shall  cherish 

While  through  his  heart  the  ardent  life-blood  springs  : 
One  burning  thought,  at  least,  can  never  perish — 

An  honest'man's  above  the  might  of  kings. 

While  noble  souls  shall  glow  with  warm  emotion, — 

While  Woman  loves  and  Genius  pants  for  fame, — 
While  Truth  and  Freedom  claim  man's  deep  devotion, 

True  hearts  shall  throb  responsive  to  his  name. 
Then  weep  not,  Scotland,  though  thy  minstrel  slumbers ; 

Still  lives  the  spirit  of  his  song  sublime, — 
Still  shall  the  music  of  his  deathless  numbers 

Thrill  in  all  hearts  and  vibrate^th rough  all  time. 

J.  c. 


1 


410725 


I 


OFFICERS   AND    MEMBERS 

OF   THE 

BURNS      CLUB 

OF   TIIK 

CITY    OF    NEW    YOEK. 


President. 
JOSEPH  CUNNINGHAM. 

First  Vice-President. 
JOSEPH  LAING. 

Second  Vice-President. 
DR.  JOHN  D.  NORCOTT.* 

Recording  Secretary. 
RICHARD  COCHRANE. 

Corresponding  Secretary. 
VAIR  CLIREHUGH,  Jr.. 

Treas^irer. 
ROBERT  MELDRUM. 

*  Since  deceased. 


MEMBERS     NAMES. 


3Ie'mhe)\ 


Jas.  Nicholson. 
Wm.  Buens. 
W.  S.  Clieehugh. 
Wm.  Hepbuen. 
RoBT.  Neilson. 
Wm.  Lang. 
Chas.  Buens. 
Edward  Fishek. 
T.  C.  Latto. 
Edward  Kearney. 
John  Kobertson. 
Chas.  Buet. 
Wm.  Robeetson. 
Geo.  Rintoul. 
John  B.  Muie. 
John  Biet. 
Jas.  L.  Dick. 
Daniel  Feaser. 
Thos.  McRae. 
RoBT.  Donald. 
John  White. 
John  Feu-. 

W.    G.    COUTTS. 

John  W.  Sumnee. 
RoBT.  Davidson. 
Wm.  Inglis. 


David  Rutheefoed. 
RoBT.  Buenet. 
Geo.  Nimmo. 
Wm.  Wakefield. 
John  A.  Paeks. 
Wm.  Paek. 
Thos.  Gow. 
John  A.  McLean. 
RoBT.  Gun. 
Wm.  Manson. 
John  R.  IIuntee. 
John  McDonough. 
De.  Wm.  Johnston. 
John  R.  Watson. 
Feederick  Hale. 
Thos.  Howitt. 
IL  11.  Dow. 
De.  Jas.  Noeval. 
Jas.  Blane. 

T.    C.    GOUELAY. 
RoBT.    McNiE. 

Wm.  IL  MoEEisoN. 
Wm.  Robeetson. 
John  Stewaet. 
Jas.  Quee. 
Daniel  Dove. 


I 


PREFACE 


The  Twenty-fifth  of  January,  1859,  was  a  clay  worthy  to 
be  kept  in  perennial  remembrance.  On  that  day,  in  every 
part  of  the  civilized  globe,  there  was  accorded  to  the  memory 
of  a  man  of  genius,  and  to  the  manly  sentiments  which  he  had 
expressed,  a  tribute  of  homage  more  sincere,  spontaneous,  and 
universal,  than  the  world  had  ever  before  witnessed.  In  every 
land,  the  lofty  and  the  lowly,  the  humble  and  the  proud, — 
men  of  mighty  intellect,  and  plain  unlettered  men, — met  to 
honor  the  memory  of  one  whose  simple  songs  and  honest,  man- 
ful utterances  had  furnished  a  "  touch  of  nature  which  made 
the  whole  world  kin," — and  to  render  the  simultaneous  ver- 
dict that  "the  nuui  of  independent  mind  is  king  of  men." 
Eloquence  poured  forth  its  loftiest  strains,  and  rough,  uncul- 
tured men  felt  their  noblest  instincts  stir  within  them,  and  were 
elevated  and  refined  by  the  inspiration  of  the  hour. 

And  when,  on  that  day, — in  the  lordly  hall  or  the  humble 
cot, — the  strong  proud  man,  the  tender  woman,  or  the  lisping 


6  PREFACE. 


cliild,  with  mingled  admiration,  love  and  pity,  syllabled  the 
name  of  Robert  Bltkns,  no  doubt  could  linger  that  his  name 
had  become  a  Power  in  the  earth  never  more  to  be  forgotten, 
contemned,  or  ignored.  The  musical  words  of  the  poor  peas- 
ant, glowing  with  the  nobleness  of  his  own  soul,  had  borne 
their  eternal  truths  to  the  heart  of  Humanity,  there  to  be  en- 
shrined, to  operate  in  the  history  and  modify  the  destiny  of 
his  race  forever. 

Among  the  many  brilliant  demonstrations  on  that  day,  in 
Great  Britain  and  America,  it  will  not  be  questioned  that  the 
celebration  by  the  Burns  Club  of  ]^ew  York  should  be  classed 
among  tliose  entitled  to  the  highest  consideration.  The  ora- 
tion delivered  on  the  evening  preceding  the  Anniversary,  by 
one  of  the  most  eminent  and  popular  orators  of  the  day,  was 
of  itself  a  distinguishing  feature.  At  the  Anniversary  Festi- 
val at  the  Astor  House,  one  of  the  most  illustrious  poets,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  respected  citizens,  of  Amei'ica,  lent  his 
fame  and  his  presence  to  the  occasion,  as  the  honorary  ])re&id- 
ing  officer;  while  at  his  side  another,  whose  fame  is  identified 
with  the  name  of  Burns,  added  lustre  to  the  gathei'ing.  The 
Pul])it,  the  Press,  and  the  Bar  i'urnislied  some  of  theii'  ablest 
representatives;  and  men  eminent  in  every  honorable  j^osition 
presented  an  assembly  distinguished  for  intellectual  excellence 
and  high  character,  probably  never  surpassed  in  the  city  of 
New  York  on  any  similar  occasion.  And  in  all  the  world  on 
that  day,  the  pervading  sentiment  of  the   occasion   found   no 


PREFACE.  ( 

more  eloquent  expression  than  that  which  fell  upon  the  ears  of 
those  witliin  tlie  Astor  House.  This  attempt,  therefore,  to  fur- 
nish some  account  of  a  commemoration  so  rare  and  so  remark- 
able, will  not  be  regarded  with  surprise. 

The  proceedings  which  are  reported  in  the  Ibl lowing  pages, 
and  the  tributes  of  intellect  and  genius  which  are  annexed, 
have  been  collected  in  this  volume  with  the  design  of  furnish- 
ing in  a  proper  ibrm  a  record  worthy  of  preservation,  to  those 
who  participated  on  the  occasion,  and  to  others  who  may  de- 
sire to  have  combined  in  an  appropriate  setting  the  gems  of 
eloquence  which  added  brilliance  to  the  commemoration. 

It  is  designed,  also,  to  place  copies  of  this  memorial  in  the 
public  libraries  of  the  city  ;  and  when  the  first  Centennial 
Birth-day  of  Burns  has  receded  far  in  the  past,  they  may  be 
found  of  occasional  value  for  reference,  by  the  curious  or  the 
interested.  Time  will  increase  rather  than  diminish  the  value 
of  such  a  record.  V/hatever  social  or  political  revolutions 
may  occur  in  the  progress  of  events,  it  seems  now  not  unrea- 
sonable to  hope  and  believe  that  the  sentiments  which  have 
given  to  Burns  such  influence  in  the  hearts  of  his  fellow-men, 
may  in  the  future  meet  even  a  more  willing  and  universal 
acceptance  than  they  do  to-day.  And  probably  a  hundred 
years  hence  his  memory  will  be  honored  as  ardently  as  now. 
And  should  some  two  or  three  of  these  little  books  survive 
the  chance  and  change  of  a  century  of  years,  the  men  of  that 
time,  when   they  meet  to  celebrate   the   Second    Centennial 


PREFACE. 


Birth-day  of  the  Bard,  may  rejoice  to  find,  in  the  record  of 
eminent  men  who  have  honored  the  First,  some  of  the  "  few 
immortal  names  that  were  not  born  to  die :"  some  who,  like 
Burns,  have  been  proved  the  benefactors  of  their  race,  and 
whose  memories,  like  his,  are  fresh  and  green  in  the  hearts  of 
their  fellow-men. 


January  25,  1860. 


T  li  K 


O   E   N   T   3^:;   N   N    I    A   L 

BIUTIMIAY  OF  lUHUUIT   KURX8, 


AS   CELEURATKI)    BY    TIIK 


PRELIMINARY   PROCEEDINGS. 

FoK  several  luoiiths  previous  to  the  close  of  the  year  1858, 
the  Burns  Club  held  in  eontemplatiou  the  approaching  Centen- 
nial Anniversary,  Avith  the  view  of  adopting  such  measures 
as  should  seem  best  adapted  to  render  their  celebration  worthy 
the  occasion,  and  such  as  would  be  expected  of  tlie  empire 
city  of  America.  Being  alst)  disposed  to  promote  an  appro- 
priate enthusiasm  and  concert  of  action  throughout  the  ISTorth 
American  continent,  they  issued,  early  in  October,  1858,  a  Cir- 
cular, of  which  the  following  is  a  cop}^ : 

AsTou  House,  Nkw  York,  October,  18')S. 

The  Burns  ("lub  of  tlic  City  of  Now  York  being  desirous  of  celebrating 
the  approaoliing  centennial  anniversary  of  the  liirth-day  of  Scotland's 
most  liondrcd  Poet,  Koliert  IJurns,  in  a  manner  worthy  the  occasion  and 
creditable  to  the  chief  city  of  the  Western  Hemisphere;  and  believing 
that  such  celebration  sliould,  as  far  as  possible,  be  united  and  general 
throughout  the  North  American  continent,  take  this  method  of  announcing 
to  kindred  associations  in  the  cities  of  Great  Britain,  the  United  States  and 
the  British  Provinces,  that  they  will  be  gratified  to  make  arrangements 
with  them  for  such  co-operation  as  may  be  practicable  for  the  purpose  of 


10 


BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


giving  united  expression  to  those  sentiments  of  reverence  for  the  memory 
and  admiration  for  the  genius  of  the  Poet  of  Humanity,  which,  while 
especially  natural  and  becoming  to  his  countrymen,  find  an  echo  and  a 
sympathy  in  the  hearts  of  the  people  of  America,  and  of  every  civilized 
nation. 

It  is  the  design  of  the  Burns  Club  of  New  York  to  celebrate  the  occa- 
sion by  a  Festival  Dinner  at  the  Astor  House  ;  by  telegraphic  exchanges 
with  the  principal  cities  of  Scotland  and  other  parts  of  Great  Britain,  if 
practicable  ;  and  by  such  other  ceremonies  as  may  be  deemed  appropriate 
and  judicious.  The  participation  and  cn-operation  of  the  Clubs  of  this 
country  and  the  Canadas,  and  also  of  such  other  associations  as  may  feel 
an  interest  in  the  cocasion,  are  earnestly  desired,  either  by  written  com- 
munication, telegraphic  dispatches,  or  delegations,  the  preliminaries  of 
which  may  be  arranged  by  previous  correspondence.  Any  suggestions 
which  may  tend  to  render  the  demonstration  more  general,  united  and 
effective,  will  be  cordially  entertained. 

Communications  with  reference  to  the  proposed  arrangements  may  be 
addressed  to  Vair  Clirehugh,  Corresponding  Secretary  of  the  Burns  Club 
of  the  city  of  New  York,  at  the  Astor  House. 

The  foregoing  Circulai",  signed  by  the  proper  officers,  was 
extensively  distributed  in  the  principal  cities  of  the  United 
States,  the  Canadas,  and  Great  Britain.  The  Press  of  this  city 
and  country,  generally,  aided  very  cordially  in  giving  publicity 
to  the  design  expressed  therein  :  in  many  instances  publishing 
the  circular  entire,  and  referring  to  it  editorially.  Several  of 
the  leading  newspapers  of  London,  Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  and 
other  places  in  Great  Britain,  also  accorded  to  it  special  and 
favorable  notice.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  extensive 
distribution  of  this  circular  contributed  in  a  large  degree  to  the 
brilliant  general  result  on  the  day  of  the  Anniversary.  Com- 
munications were  received  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States, 
from  Great  Bi'i tain  and  elsewhere,  giving  evidence  that  in  many 
instances  it  had  suggested  a  celebration  of  the  day  where  none 
had  been  contemplated,  and  stimulated  enthusiasm  where  prepa- 
rations had  been  made. 

[It  is  proper  to  remark,  that  at  the  time  the  circular  was 


PRELIM IXAKV  PKOCEEDINGS.  11 


issued,  the  iiuuiediatc  priictical  operation  and  success  of  the 
great  Atlantic  Telegraph  was  generally  anticipated.  And  it 
would  indi'i'd  have  hecn  a  peculiarly  fitting  and  crowning 
consunnnation  of  the  celebration,  if  those  who  were  assembled 
in  the  Old  World  and  the  New,  to  lionor  the  memory  of 
Robert  Burns,  could  on  that  day  have  been  united,  as  it  were, 
by  actual  contact.] 

Amonjr  other  ari-ani»'ements  made  bv  the  Burns  Club  for 
the  celebration  of  the  Centennial  Anniversary,  invitations  were 
issued,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  presiding  officers,  to  Mr.  William 
CuLLEN  Bryant  and  iNIr.  Edward  M.  Archibald,  to  occupy 
the  honorary  positions  of  Chairman  and  Croupier,  at  the 
Festival  at  the  Astor  House,  which  invitations  were  courte- 
ously accepted  by  those  gentlemen.  It  was  also  decided 
that  an  oration  by  some  able  and  distinguished  man  would 
be  an  appropriate  and  effective  feature.  Application  was 
accordingly  made,  for  this  purpose,  to  Rev.  IIknuy  Ward 
Beecher;  and  that  gentleman  having  acceded  to  the  propo- 
sition, the  large  hall  of  the  Cooper  Institute  was  engaged  for 
the  evening  of  Monday,  Jan.  24,  1859.  The  result  exceeded 
all  anticipation.  Long  before  the  hour  appointed,  on  the  even- 
ing named,  an  eager  crowd  had  assembled ;  and  upon  the 
opening  of  the  doors  the  hall  was  filled  in  every  part,  every 
seat  in  the  auditorium  and  upon  the  platform  being  occupied. 

The  iT.  Y.  Herald  of  Jan.  25, 1859,  speaking  of  this  assem- 
bly, says:  "The  doors  of  the  Institute  were  thrown  open  to 
the  public  at  seven  o'clock,  and  in  half  an  hour  after,  every 
available  seat  in  the  auditorium  was  occupied,  as  well  as  the 
special  seats  prepared  on  the  platform.  Among  the  audience 
we  noticed  some  of  our  most  prominent  and  intellectual  cit- 
izens." 

The  Scottish  American  Journal  of  Jan.  29,  lb59,  in  intro- 


12  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

ducing  its  report  of  the  oration,  remarked  :  "There  were  three 
thousand  people  present,  and  among  the  audience  were  several 
of  the  most  prominent  citizens  of  New  York.  Although  the 
hour  for  the  commencement  of  the  lecture  was  eight  o'clock, 
between  six  and  seven  the  doors  were  besieged  by  large  num- 
bers of  ladies  and  gentlemen  eager  to  gain  admission.  The 
lecturer  met  with  a  very  enthusiastic  reception,  and  througli- 
out  the  course  of  his  address,  which  occupied  an  hour  and  a 
quarter  in  delivery,  was  warmly  applauded." 

The  President  of  the  Club  introduced  Mr.  Beecher  to  the 
audience,  and  acknowledged  the  courtesy  of  the  "  Society  of 
Mechanics  and  Tradesmen,"  Avho  had  kindly  conceded  to  the 
Burns  Club  their  right  to  the  use  of  the  Cooper  Institute  for 
tliat  evening.  Mr.  Beecher  then  proceeded  to  deliver  the 
address  which  will  be  found  in  the  ensuing  pages. 


f  a  1 1 0 1 , 


RTGV.    HENRY    ^V^^^,D    BEKCHER. 


I  COME  upon  your  invitation,  gentlemen  of  the  Barns  Club, 
friends  and  fellow-citizens,  to  celebrate  with  one  half  of  the 
civilized  world,  and  with  the  whole  world  of  letters,  the  birth 
of  a  farmer's  boy,  who  became  a  ploughman,  a  tiax-dresser,  an 
exciseman  and  gauger,  and  who  was  reputed  also  to  have 
become  a  poet.  One  hundred  years  ago,  January  25th,  1759, 
Agnes  Brown  Burness  gave  to  the  world  her  son,  Bobert 
Burns.  The  father  and  the  mother  were  Scotch.  The  son 
only  took  Scotland  on  his  way  into  the  whole  world.  While 
we  allow  Scotchmen  a  suitable  national  pride  in  their  chief 
poet,  we  cannot  allow  the  world  to  be  robbed  of  their  right 
and  interest  in  Burns.  And  yet  there  never  was  born  to  tiiat 
land,  so  fertile  in  men,  a  truer  Scotchman  ;  and  it  h  tlie  ])ecu- 
liar  admiration  and  glory  of  the  man,  that  in  spite  of  obscu- 
rity, bred  to  all  the  local  influences,  Scotch  in  bone,  in  muscle, 
in  culture,  and  in  dialect,  he  rose  higher  than  the  special  and 
national,  and  achieved  his  glory  in  those  elements  whicli  unite 
mankind,  and  make  all  nations  of  one  blood.  While  men  of 
science  are  groping  about  the  signs  of  external  man,  and 
debating  the  origin  and  unity  of  races,  a  poet  strikes  the  fun- 
damental chords,  and  all  races,  peoples,  and  tongues  hear,  un- 
derstand, and  agree ;  so  that  the  poet  is,  after  all,  the  true 
ethnologist.     The  human  heart  is  his  harp,  and  he  who  knows 


14  BURNS    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 

how  to  touch  that  with  skill,  belongs  to  no  country,  can  be 
shut  in  by  no  language,  nor  sequestered  by  any  age.  He  be- 
longs to  the  world  and  to  the  race. 

The  father  of  Burns,  William  Burness — the  poet  contracted 
the  name  when  he  published  his  first  volume — was  a  genuine 
man  in  his  way.  He  had  a  head,  and  a  heart,  and  a  pair  of 
hands,  all  of  which  were  kept  exceedingly  busy  in  prolonging 
a  desperate  fight  for  life  and  comfort.  He  was  a  man  of  stern 
probity,  of  the  deepest  religious  convictions,  and  of  an  indom- 
itable will.  He  expected  much  of  all  his  family,  but  was 
sterner  with  himself  than  with  any  other.  His  only  amuse- 
ment was  speculative  theology,  but  that  did  not  injure  his 
morals,  for  he  was  a  mati  of  scrupulous  integrity  to  the  last — 
clean  to  the  very  fountain  of  honor;  yet  was  irascible,  and 
when  unduly  thwarted,  violent  in  temper.  He  held  up  his 
head  like  a  brave  swimmer  in  a  rough  sea,  until  the  waves 
fairly  beat  him  down.  William  Burness  never  prospered. 
His  son  says  of  him ;  "  Stubborn,  ungainly  integrity,  and 
headlong,  ungovernable  irascibility,  are  disqualifying  circum- 
stances in  the  path  of  fortune."  It  is  not  the  rigor  of  integ- 
rity which  stands  in  any  man's  way.  It  is  the  indiscriminate 
stifiening  of  everything  by  the  rigor  of  pride  saturated  with 
conscience;  for  God  has  built  the  human  form  to  combine  the 
utmost  stiff'ness  with  the  utmost  litheness.  There  are  bones 
for  stiffness,  and  there  are  joints  for  limberness.  So  with  the 
character.  It  is  to  be  built  upon  the  sternest  elements  of  truth 
and  justice,  but  somewhere  there  must  be  litheness  and  plia- 
blenefcs.  If  there  are  no  joints  in  the  character,  no  supple 
motion,  and  if  the  tastes,  opinions  and  prejudices,  likes  and 
dislikes,  are  all  solidified  into  a  multiplex  conscience,  no  man 
can  ijet  alone:  in  life.  It  was  a  little  too  much  of  this  ossifica- 
tion  wliich  made  William  Burness  too  stifi"  to  fight  well. 


oiLV'i'iox.  15 

Some  parents  seem  to  be  the  mere  antecedents  of  their  chil- 
dren. As  ships  sometimes  are  built  far  up  the  stream  where 
timber  abounds  and  only  float  down  and  out  of  the  estuary,  so 
it  would  seem  of  some  men  that  they  owe  their  natures  to  their 
grand-parents  or  some  body  far  up  the  stream  of  generations. 
Burns'  father  possessed  very  much  the  same  character  as  his 
son.  The  same  moi-al  honesty,  the  same  pride,  the  same  vio- 
lence of  feeling,  the  same  ])enetration  of  men,  the  same  breadth 
of  understanding,  the  same  imjtatience  of  restraint  from  without, 
the  same  unfitness  for  thi-iving  in  worldly  nuitters,  the  same 
longing  for  wealth,  for  its  independence,  and  contempt  for  the 
means  of  getting  wealth,  belonged  to  the  father  and  the  more 
illustrious  son.  ^^'dy,  besides  the  fatlier,  Kobert  Burns  carried 
in  him  a  great  deal  of  the  mother ;  and  if  he  had  carried  more 
he  would  have  been  better,  for  the  father  is  the  bush  and  the 
mother  is  the  blossom,  and  the  fruit  germ  is  always  in  or 
under  the  blossom.  Agnes  Brown  was  a  woman  of  lunnble 
birth,  that  is,  she  was  born  as  every  body  else  is  born.  It  M'ill 
not  do  to  say  "  king's  babe  and  beggar's  brat."  Being  born 
is  a  very  humble  business  at  any  rate,  and  there  is  very  little 
difference  in  crying,  in  sleeping,  in  eating,  for  in  the  cradled 
unconsciousness  of  babes  the  world  over,  there  is  very  much 
of  a  sameness.  It  is  very  plain  that  she  was  effectually  born, 
however.  It  is  thought  by  some  that  men  have  lived  in  a  woi-ld 
before  this  and  that  they  are  set  out  a  second  time  here — though 
it  would  be  diliicult  to  imagine  in  many  cases  what  tliey  grew 
in,  if  this  was  the  second  growth,  yet  Agnes  Brown  was  an 
exception  ;  she  brought  along  with  her  from  that  dim  source  of 
human  life,  wherever  or  whatever  it  was,  the  seed  of  many  rare 
and  precious  faculties.  Central  and  strong  was  her  heart,  it 
had  that  deep  nature  which  religion  always  gives.  It  is  faith 
in  the  invisible  and  in  the  infinite  that  rolls  out  the  sea  into  an 


16  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

imhedged  ocean  and  makes  the  thought  long  and  deep.  Any 
nature  without  depth  of  moral  feeling  is  but  a  river  pilot  steer- 
ing a  light  craft  near  the  river  banks,  and  thumping  along  at 
every  turn  upon  the  sand  or  mud.  As  the  stream  of  her  life 
ran  far  above  the  bottom,  it  did  not  carry  many  ripples  upon 
its  surface.  She  was  calm,  gentle,  and  of  a  heavenly  temper. 
She  was  a  good  house-keeper,  which  is  a  very  brave  and  noble 
thing  in  woman,  and  a  thing  often  requiring  more  mind  and 
tact  than  to  govern  a  nation,  as  nations  are  governed.  But 
while  she  wrought  and  arranged,  she  chatted  and  snug,  for 
Burns'  mother  was  the  mother  of  Burns'  poetry.  Her  songs 
and  ballads  were  in  great  store  and  of  a  moral  aim.  The  song 
which  she  loved  most  to  sing  and  Burns  most  loved  to  hear, 
was  "  The  Life  and  Age  of  Man,"  comparing  the  periods  of 
human  life  to  the  months  of  the  year ;  and  Burns  says  of  his 
grand-uncle  that  during  many  years  of  liis  blindness  he  had  no 
greater  enjoyment  than  that  of  crying,  while  his  mother  sang 
that  ballad  to  him.  Ah,  how  many  sweet  sounds  there  are  in 
this  world,  how  many  sounds  of  air  and  water,  how  many  songs 
of  birds  and  sounds  of  musical  instruments  ;  but  when  all  is 
said,  neither  has  man  invented  any  musical  instrument,  nor  has 
nature  in  all  her  choir  and  orchestra  any  thing  which  for  sweet- 
ness is  like  a  mother's  voice  singing  through  the  house,  while 
she  labors — songs,  hymns,  and  ballads — the  children  sleep, 
dream  of  angels,  and  awake  and  say  "  Mother  !"  With  such  a 
father  and  such  a  mother.  Burns  could  not  help  himself.  Of 
couree  he  must  be  an  A})ono's  arrow  witli  such  a  mother  for  a 
bow,  and  with  such  a  fatlier  for  a  string ;  aiul  the  bow  abides 
in  its  strength,  and  the  sti'ing  is  uncut,  and  tlie  arrow  still  Hies, 
and  sounds  in  Hying.  The  fatlier  of  Burns  liad  just  built,  and 
poorly  built,  a  clay  cottage  on  the  banks  of  the  Doon,  county 
of  Ayr,   and   scarcely  had  the   poet  learned  to  live,  that  is,  to 


O  RAT  [ON.  17 

ciT,  before  a  rude  storm  beat  down  the  tenement.  That  storm 
never  spent  itself,  but  blew  after  him  all  his  life  long.  He  was 
wont,  in  the  days  of  his  trouble,  Avith  gloomy  playfulness,  to 
attribute  the  violence  of  his  pa^^sions  to  the  tempest  whicli 
ushered  himself  into  the  world  ;  and  these  passions  certaiidy 
succeeded  in  blowing  down  the  clay-built  tenement  in  which  he 
himself  dwelt.  As  a  child  we  have  little  record  of  him  except 
his  own  reminiscences  in  his  various  letters,  lie  was  not  pre- 
cocious. His  earlier  years  seem  to  have  been  purely  receptive. 
He  was  unconsciously  receiving  his  education.  It  was  a  good 
education.  There  was  no  Latin  nor  Greek  in  it ;  but  as  he  did 
not  intend  to  sing  in  those  tongues,  there  was  no  special  reason 
in  his  case  for  learning  them.  They  were  dead  languages  ;  he 
was  a  living  man — a  living  singer.  Ilis  father  and  mother 
taught  him  morals  and  religion.  An  old  servant,  Jeimy  Wil- 
son, took  charge  of  his  imagination,  fired  and  fed  it  by  such  a 
collection  of  tales  and  songs  concerning  devils,  fairies,  brownies, 
spunkies,  warlocks,  wraiths,  appai-itions,  cantraps,  giants,  en- 
chanted towers,  dragons,  and  other  trumpery,  as  I  suppose  no 
poet  had  ever  received  before  or  since.  But  Burns'  imagination 
was  not  superstitious,  notwithstanding  such  a  beginning  ;  it  was 
eminently  simple,  natural,  and  transparent ;  so  that  these  tales 
only  stimulated  but  did  not  subdue,  nor  even  educate  his  ima- 
gination. They  fell  upcni  his  young  fancy  as  coarse  fertilizers 
upon  the  farmer's  field,  which  enter  in  the  earth  black  and 
noisome,  but  re-appear  as  flowers,  seeds,  and  fruit.  Nature  was 
also  at  work  in  his  education.  I  mean  the  physical  M'orld 
without  him  held  up  to  him  clouds  or  cloudless  heavens,  morn- 
ing and  evening,  rivers,  thickets,  rocks  and  ravines,  birds, 
flowers,  and  harvest-fields,  and  whatever  else  comes  into  the 
ear-gate  or  the  eye-gate.  Some  natures  gain  nothing  from  this 
great  school-master.  Nature.  They  are  like  dogs  in  Kaphael's 
3 


18 


BUKNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


studio,  or  in  Michael  Angelo's  house ;  thej  get  meat  there,  but 
never  learn  to  paint  or  to  carve.  But  other  men  are  sensitive 
to  all  that  nature  does,  as  if  God  stood  visibly  before  them  and 
showed  his  hand  while  drawing  forms  and  laying  on  the  colors  ; 
and  Burns  was  one  of  these. 

But  great  pains  was  taken  with  young  Burns  to  give  him 
all  the  advantage  of  the  school  learning  that  tlie  times,  tlie 
neighborhood,  and  his  parents'  scanty  means  could  supply. 
A  Scotch  farmer's  house  is  itself  no  mean  school.  There  is 
learned  at  least  a  deal  of  local  history  and  legendary  lore 
which  books  are  not  apt  to  contain.  There  the  child  is  taught 
to  ponder  and  dispute  in  speculative  theology  —  a  practice 
which  in  education  is  of  wonderful  power.  Whatever  we  may 
think  of  the  truth  or  the  wisdom  of  the  elements  of  specu- 
lative theology,  no  man  can  be  from  his  childhood  taught  to 
go  forth  in  these  wide-reaching  views  of  divine  government 
and  human  destiny,  without  having  a  deep  place  in  his 
nature  touched  ;  and  no  man  can  mount  to  the  great  spec- 
ulations of  free  will  and  divine  decrees,  and  do  battle  with 
them  without  gaining  both  dialectic  skill  and  some  arousing 
of  the  imagination.  But  though  Burns  declined  from  the  rigid 
faith  of  the  kirk,  and  leaned  towards  new  lights,  yet  he  had 
breathed  an  atmosphere  which  affected  his  mind  to  the  end. 
In  succession,  he  went  to  school  to  Mr.  Campbell — (1  mention 
the  names  of  these  men,  who  are  great,  because  of  their  con- 
nection with  him) — and  afterwards  to  Mr.  Murdock  in  the 
town  of  Ayr.  At  nineteen  he  spent  a  short  time  at  school 
at  Kirkeswold,  where  he  learned  mensuration,  engineering,  and 
what  not.  In  tlie  meantime  ]}urns  had  read  Bunyan,  who  if 
once  read  will  be  remembered  forever.  lie  says — "  The  idea 
I  formed  of  modern  manners  and  literature  and  criticism,  I  got 
from  the  Spectator.     These  with  Pope's  works,  which  could 


ORATION.  I'J 


add  notliing  to  Burns'  only  as  an  aid  in  smoothing  his 
style,  some  plays  in  Shakspeare,  Dickson  on  Agriculture, 
Locke  on  the  Understanding,  (and  a  better  one  was  never 
put  on,)  —  Stackhouse's  History  of  the  Bible,  Boyle's  Lec- 
tures, All.'ui  Ramsay's  works,  Taylors  Scriptural  History  of 
Original  Sin,  a  Select  Collection  of  English  Songs,  and  Har- 
vey's Meditations,  formed  the  whole  of  my  readings."  These 
books  were  well  enough,  for  in  sooth  neither  schoolmaster  nor 
books  made  Robert  Burns.  He  did  not  derive  his  tempestuous 
nature  from  books.  His  tender  love,  his  sympathy,  his  per- 
sonal relationship  to  whatever  in  nature  was  beautiful,  his 
penetration  of  human  life,  his  mournful  melancholy,  his  love 
of  man,  of  liberty,  of  power,  and  grandeur, — the  roots  of  Burns' 
works,  you  shall  not  find  in  any  of  these  books.  They  are 
good  books.  It  is  the  reader  who  makes  a  good  book.  They 
were  great  books  when  Burns  read  them  ;  but  you  shall  not 
find  his  teachers  there.  It  was  the  created  and  unwritten 
book  of  God  that  taught  Robert  Burns.  Let  us  look  at  him  at 
fourteen.  He  was  a  coarse,  awkward,  graceless,  lubberly  boy  ; 
of  a  silent  way,  not  given  to  mirth,  not  quick,  and  utterly 
unlike  a  poet.  But  he  knew  how  to  work.  As  early  as  four- 
teen he  became  skillful  as  a  ploughman,  and  at  fifteen  he  was 
the  head  workman  on  his  father's  farm.  Let  it  be  said  here 
that  Burns  was  never  a  lazy,  shiftless  man,  who  took  to  poetry 
as  a  fair  excuse  for  neglecting  hard  work.  No  man  ever 
worked  more  patiently  or  uncomplainingly  than  did  he ;  and 
though  for  years  he  fought  desperately  against  discouragement 
on  his  father's  farm,  when  he  afterwards  became  a  farmer  for 
himself,  he  never  shrank  from  toil — the  rudest,  coarsest,  and 
most  uncongenial  to  his  poetic  temperament. 

But   we   must   not  anticipate.     Burns  is  now   twenty;    but 
his  hand   is  on  the  harp.     His  life  is  fairly  begun — the  sad  life 


20  BURNS    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 

of  a  glorious  man  full  of  noble  impulses  stumbling  in  a  rough 
way,  full  of  the  most  congenial  and  tender  affections,  grasp- 
ing mankind  bj  the  heart,  and  aiming  in  all  his  essential 
works  to  crown  his  human  life  with  goodness.  But  before  we 
venture  upon  that  career  of  mingled  good  and  ill,  we  must  stop 
and  ask  what  Burns  was — for  there  are  some  who  press  upon 
him  vehemently  with  the  sins  of  his  life,  and  some  who  as 
raslily  defend  them  at  the  expense  of  good  morals. 

That  he  violated  his  own  moral  sense,  his  own  solemn  and 
bitter  words  do  show.  DitRcult  indeed  is  it  to  equal  the 
awful  solemnity  of  Burns'  bitter  words.  He  was  his  own 
Rhadamanthns.  He  carried  conviviality  to  excess,  violated 
his  own  principles  of  virtue,  and  grafted  license  upon  love. 

Burns  is  not  helped  when  we  deny  these  mournful  facts  of 
his  sad  life,  or  when  we  palliate  them  to  a  degree  which  shall 
make  them  less  guilty  in  a  poet  than  in  every  man.  Let  them 
stand  if  they  are  facts.  We  must  recognize  them.  In  draw- 
ing his  character,  while  we  give  it  all  the  lights,  we  must  not 
shrink  from  the  fidelity  of  the  shadows  also.  But  although 
immoralities  are  never  to  be  excused  by  what  a  man  is  not, 
yet  what  a  man  is  will  determine  the  severity  and  leniency  of 
our  condemnation.  How  a  ship  behaves  upon  the  sea,  depends 
not  alone  upon  the  skill  of  those  who  manage  her,  but  also 
upon  the  way  in  which  it  was  built.  How  was  Burns  built? 
Burns  was  endowed  with  a  masculine  understanding,  clear  and 
penetrating,  that  saw  things  by  their  whole,  intuitively,  and 
not  in  detail.  His  mind  was  logical  in  thought,  not  in  things. 
He  was  wiser  as  a  thinker  than  as  an  actor,  for  the  part  of  the 
mind,  which  is  the  ground  of  the  instinct  which  gives  manage- 
ment, tact,  and  thrift  in  the  common  things  of  life,  was  not 
eminent  in  him.  He  inherited  a  pride,  which  wrought  in  him 
a   most   intense   sense  of  personality,  which   gave   him  a  very 


ORATION.  21 

high  ideal  of  manliness,  which  inspired  an  undying  longing 
for  a  well-earned  glory,  which  made  him  suspicious  of  all 
ahove  him,  and  a  patron  and  protector  of  all  below  him — a 
])ridc  wliicli,  acting  in  one  way,  sustained  liim  under  a  load  of 
ill-success,  and  which,  turning  inward,  ate  his  heart  out,  be- 
cause he  could  not  rise.  I  know  not  from  which  parent  he 
took  l)is  heart;  from  botli  of  them,  I  think.  He  was  generous, 
like  his  fatlicr,  wlio  was  more  kind  to  others  than  to  himself. 
He  had  the  depth  and  tenderness  of  his  mother's  heart,  but 
not  her  calmness  and  evenness.  Her  heart  lay  tranquil,  like 
one  of  the  sweet  lakes  of  Scotland.  His  beat  as  the  ocean 
beats  and  surges  on  the  western  shore  of  Scotland.  It  has 
been  the  fashion  to  speak  of  Burns  as  having  a  light  fancy, 
easily  kindled  by  the  glance  of  beauty,  and  as  easily  extin- 
ffuished.  Nothins:  can  be  more  untrue.  JS^o  heart  was  ever 
truer  or  more  enduring  in  its  affections.  He  never  loved  to 
cast  off;  but  each  love  was  but  another  link,  not  always 
golden,  of  that  long  chain  of  which  his  heart  was  the  immo- 
vable staple.  He  loved  men,  he  loved  animals,  and  whatever 
grew,  if  it  only  grew  in  Scotland.  His  loving  nature  was  won- 
derful. 1^0  man  can  form  any  estimate  of  either  the  good  or 
bad  tiuit  was  in  him,  who  does  not  study  Burns'  heart,  whose 
tides  were  as  deep  as  the  ocean's,  and  sometimes  as  tempestu- 
ous. That  he  was  more  susceptible  to  women  than  men  is  not 
strange.  The  same  thing  has  happened  before.  And  though 
he  best  loved  woman,  woman  was  not  the  only  subject  of  his 
affection.  In  his  better  moods,  universal  being  circled  into 
his  afl'ections.  His  nature  overspread  universal  human  life, 
as  the  great  arch  overspreads  the  world  with  benign  brightness 
by  day,  and  drops  down  upon  it  mute  dews  by  night.  And 
to  this  we  must  add  that  peculiar  kind  of  emotion,  which  you 
may  call   fancy,    imagination,   or  poetic  vision — that   divine 


22  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


element  of  the  soul  whicli  teaelies  it  to  see  the  soul  of  things,, 
and  not  their  material  bodies,  which  clothes  everything  it  looks 
upon  with  beauty  and  grace,  which  works  with  sounds,  forms, 
and  movements,  and  evolves  a  subtle  grace  in  them  all.  The 
soul  that  has  this  divine  element  is  as  a  divine  wardrobe ;  the 
eye,  ear,  and  mind  are  almoners  going  forth  and  clothing  all 
things  w'ith  a  radiant  apparel. 

Besides  these  faculties,  there  were  two  other  elements  which 
largely  influenced  Bui-ns'  life  and  determined  his  character. 
The  first  is  his  hereditar}^  taint  of  melancholy.  The  other 
was  his  temperament.  From  his  earliest  life,  and  in  all  his 
poems,  we  see  that  dark  and  desponding  tone  which  so  won- 
derfully contrasts  with  other  salient  traits  of  his  character. 
At  times  it  seems  as  if  the  great  world  of  despondency  swung 
round  between  him  and  the  sun,  and  he  lay  in  fearful  eclipse, 
hopeless,  gloomy,  wretched,  and  tormented.  Had  his  life  been 
successful,  it  may  be  believed  that  with  vigorous  health,  and 
with  praise  which  would  gratify  his  pride,  and  with  full  op- 
portunity to  put  forth  his  unvexed  powers,  he  would  have 
risen  above  this  malady.  But  strong  in  youth,  it  grew  stronger 
when  evil  habits  broke  his  constitution  and  poverty  was  pinch- 
ing him  with  want  more  and  more.  And  his  own  moral  na- 
ture adding  remorse  to  despondency,  this  natural  hypochondria 
became  almost  a  fatal  malady.  Nor  is  it  less  important  that 
we  should  consider  his  temperament,  for  on  that  depends 
much  of  the  credit  which  some  men  have  both  for  prudence 
and  self-control,  and  the  reverse.  We  believe  tiiat  later  phy- 
siologists agree  in  this,  that  in  the  human  sj'stem  there  is  a 
portion  of  the  nervous  matter,  whose  function  is  to  produce 
general  sensibility  without  regard  to  the  special  faculties  of 
the  mind.  Thus,  a  sound  of  music  falling  upon  two  ears,  fills 
one  with  the  most  thrilling  sensibility,  while  the  other  receives 


ORATION.  "23 

ifc  calmly;  not  that  the  musical  faculty  is  more  acute  in  one 
than  the  other,  but  that  the  whole  nervous  system  receives 
more  readily.  This  tact  becomes  more  apparent  in  morbid 
states  of  health.  The  sounds  wliich  are  of  no  consequence  at 
other  times  till  tlie  whole  mind  with  excessive  emotion  ;  so  that 
in  cstnnating  the  power  of  feeling  in  any  man,  we  must  look 
to  the  development  and  combination  of  the  sei)arate  faculties 
of  mind  in  their  normal  creative  power,  and  then  next  to  the 
general  sensibility  of  the  whole  nervous  system,  under  the 
inliuence  of  which  the  special  faculties  are  attempered.  Some 
men  with  strong  minds  and  hearts  have  a  low  temperament 
and  are  deficient  in  general  sensibility.  Tlu-ir  feelings  are 
gradually  worked  uj) ;  they  have  an  equable  nature ;  they 
heat  as  iron  heats.  Some  men  heat  as  powder  heats  ;  that  is, 
a  touch  and  explosion.  It  is  not  a  trouble  to  some  men  to 
nuiintain  an  equable,  temperate  medium;  they  are  by  nature 
cool,  unim})assioned,  and  unexcitable.  The  sins  of  such  men 
are  usually  the  sins  that  collect  upon  the  not-doing  side  of  life, 
moth,  mildew,  mold,  mistletoe,  rust.  But  such  men  are  uniit 
judges  for  those  who  have  imjierious  sensibilities.  Men  who 
hear  thunder  as  if  it  were  the  hand  of  a  friend  knocking  at 
the  door  are  not  iit  to  judge  of  men  in  whose  ear  the  same 
hand  knocking  at  the  door  sounds  like  thunder.  Kobert  Burns 
was  eminently  a  man  who  had  this  excessive  sensibility.  lie 
overflowed  with  strength  of  feeling.  His  capacity  for  gen- 
erating sensibility  was  prodigious.  His  one  nature  carried 
enough  for  twenty  common  men  of  mere  force  of  feeling.  He 
never  trickled  drop  by  drop  prudentially,  but  he  gushed.  He 
never  ran  a  slender  thread  of  silver  water;  he  came  down, 
booming,  all  broad,  like  one  of  his  own  streams,  when  a 
shoM'er  has  touched  and  brokrii  upon  the  mountain  ;  and  there 
never  was   any  proportion   between  the  cause  and  the  etlect : 


24  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

a  mouse,  a  flower,  a  hare  liacl  him  in  their  power  whatever 
time  his  heart  was  opened.  The  daisy  which  went  under  when 
he  ploughed  was  not  so  much  subjected  to  the  iron  plough- 
share as  he  was  to  the  touch  of  the  daisy's  modest  look.  All 
the  powers  of  his  nature  were  subjected  to  this  same  sudden 
overflow.  He  thought  as  dragoons  charge.  He  felt  life  as 
prairies  feel  autumnal  fires,  with  their  leaping  flames  outrun- 
ning the  fleetest  deer  and  all  before  them,  and  leaving,  alas, 
too  often  ashes  and  smoke  behind  them.  He  suftered  as  if 
fiends  possessed  him,  and  enjoyed  as  if  angels  carried  him  in 
their  bosom.  There  he  stands,  like  the  mountains  of  his  own 
land — often  capped  M-ith  storms,  oftener  shrouded  with  mists, 
and  scarred  with  ravines ;  often  thundering  with  the  sound  of 
rushing  waters  which  dashed  down  the  valley,  tearing  up 
roads  and  sweeping  away  bridges.  But  there,  also,  birds 
brooded  and  sung;  sweet  flowers  found  foot-room  ;  pure  lakes 
and  rock-bound  brooks  looked  silently  up  to  God ;  the  spice- 
bush,  and  vines  purple  with  berries,  and  grass,  and  moaning 
pines  and  wind-waved  larches — these  all  held  fellowship — the 
stern  and  the  gentle,  the  rugged  and  the  beautiful,  the  pure 
and  the  turbid,  the  massive,  and  the  sweetest,  tenderest  little- 
ness of  beauty !  Strange  fellowship  of  opposition  in  the  one 
man  !     The  world  has  never  seen  his  like  ! 

Now,  our  problem  is — how  was  this  very  sensitive  creature — 
proud,  loving,  ambitious,  yearning,  ringing  with  every  imagina- 
tion, with  a  head  better  for  thought  than  for  things,  with  a  heart 
that  every  body  could  kindle  and  nobody  put  out — how  was  he 
to  make  his  way  upwards  in  life,  from  poverty  and  wretched- 
ness into  large  success  ?  It  is  not  the  question,  how  shall  a  man 
carry  a  small  cup  half  full  without  spilling,  but  how  shall  a 
man  carry  a  great  cup  brimfull,  over  a  rougli  road,  and  in  a 
stormy  night,  without  spilling?     It  is  not,  how  well  a  machine 


OKATIOX,  25 

can  raise  just  steam  eiiuii<^h  to  i^et  along  ;  but  how  an  engine 
sliall  get  along  that  makes  more  steam  than  it  can  overwork  or 
cast  olt",  tremhliug  with  inward  intensity  as  it  i-uns  with  (i])en 
throttle  and  open  turnaee  doors,  singing  at  every  seam  and 
hissing  at  every  rivet?  The  (piestion  we  propound  to  you,  is 
not  what  is  right,  what  is  duty — all  are  agreed  as  to  that — but 
what  shall  this  Robei-t  Burns  do  '.  With  that  nature  of  his, 
compounded  of  such  astonishing  opposites — with  the  profound- 
est  melancholy,  and  a  sociability  varying  from  a  smile  to  roaring- 
revelry — with  an  overflowing  heart  of  kindness  and  love,  and  a 
pride  as  high  and  stern  as  the  lordliest  monarch  (Hi  his  throne — 
with  an  understanding  so  clear  and  practical  that  no  shams  or 
cant  could  for  a  moment  deceive  or  mystify  it — with  an  ima- 
gination so  strong  and  transparent  that  it  gave  another  nature 
than  its  own  to  every  thing,  and  almost  every  person — with  an 
honor  and  conscience  so  high  that  he  would  sooner  have  died 
than  spoken  a  falsehood  or  broken  a  jdighted  word;  and  with 
such  a  fancy,  that  all  things  were  magnihed  and  distorted — his 
friends  were  angels  and  his  enemies  devils;  homely  faces,  hand- 
some; simple  and  common  natures,  divine;  good  men,  hideous; 
and  upright  men,  wicked  ;  with  such  a  keen  relish  for  life,  that 
he  thrilled  all  his  companions  with  merriment,  as  a  drum  wakes 
a  camp,  and  yet  despising  the  world,  and  walking  above 
men,  as  shadows — yearning  for  immortality  !  It  is  one  of  the 
strangest,  the  richest,  and  most  remarkable  of  human  histories 
the  world  has  ever  recorded. 

Gilbert,  the  eldest  brother,  the  plain  honest  brother;  Robert, 
the  wonderfully  compounded  man,  were  at  school  together. 
Robert  was  the  dunce,  Gilbert  was  the  merry  and  witty  one  ; 
Robert  was  as  little  known  to  himself  as  to  others.  One  thing 
was  plain  ;  he  was  no  sentimental   laggard.     His  fatlu  r  laid  a 

hard  farm  and  a  desperate  strife  for  a  livelihood.     Robert  nuide 
4 


26  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

at  fortune  with  a  resolution,  industry  and  patience  which  would 
have  conquered,  if  it  could  have  been  done  by  fine  furrows 
and  the  handsome  cast  of  the  hand  in  sowing  seed.  At  the 
age  of  thirteen,  he  assisted  in  all  the  labors  of  the  farm.  At 
fourteen,  he  feared  no  competitor  with  scythe,  sickle  or  plough. 
At  fifteen,  he  was  the  principal  laborer  on  the  farm ;  and  at  this 
age  he  would  appear  to  have  had  the  very  stuiF,  out  of  which 
to  have  made  a  plodding  yeoman.  He  speaks  of  his  sufferings, 
and  of  his  doom  as  the  tramp  and  moil  of  a  galley-slave.  In 
this  way,  and  all  this  time,  he  was  seizing  every  thing  in  his 
way,  and  pushing  in  every  direction,  studying  all  the  nicer 
shades  of  the  language,  a  critic  as  he  styles  himself,  in  verbs 
and  substantives.  In  his  labors  he  carried  with  him  a  book  of 
National  Songs.  He  pored  over  these  Scotch  ballads,  every 
word  of  which  was  to  him  like  the  voice  of  a  spirit,  calling 
him  by  name.  Next  Burns  goes  to  school  at  Kii-keswald  to 
learn  surveying.  He  is  nineteen ;  he  is  unfolding  and  with 
very  little  to  help  him,  and  with  no  one  to  understand  him. 
He  is  full  of  all  manner  of  strange  things  of  a  most  contrary 
description,  but  all  alike  in  being  strong  and  impetuous.  Here 
his  social  nature  nnfokls,  and  liis  intuitive  sense  of  character 
displays  itself.  He  learns  to  read  men,  and  a  yet  more  dan- 
gerous literature,  for  his  studies  were  all  stopped  short  by  fall- 
ing in  love  with  a  damsel  living  next  door.  He  went  out  to 
take  an  observation  of  the  sun,  saw  her,  and  stopped.  He  goes 
home,  hungering  for  letters  and  improving  his  style  by  every 
diligence,  and  opening  correspondence  with  every  man  who 
could  write  a  creditable  letter.  His  soul  was  struggling  and  it 
had  no  helper.  Again,  he  is  at  home  npon  his  fathers  farm,  at 
Lockley.  He  is  twenty  years  of  age,  and  reading  Mackenzie 
and  Sterne,  both  sentimentalists ;  one  poor  and  feeble,  and  the 
other  strono;  and  evil.     That  2;roat  nature,  all  alive,  had  no 


ORATION.  27 

legitimate  channel  yet.  No  man  said  to  him,  "  God  sent  you, 
Burns,  into  life  to  be  a  poet;"  but  every  man  said  to  him, 
"Burns,  you  are  born  to  be  a  farmer."  Burns  tliought  so  too. 
He  tried  to  be  one.  All  his  understanding,  conscience  and  filial 
piety  were  forcing  him  into  a  kind  of  life,  which  was  both 
uncongenial  and  unnatural.  Is  it  surprising  that  nature,  denied 
in  her  highest  endowments,  should  re-act  somewhere,  and  that 
P)urns,  who  in  his  social  life  possessed  a  power  of  conversation 
which  gave  him  superiority  to  all  about  him,  should  sometimes 
overflow  with  revelry  ? 

But  affairs  were  dark  at  Lockley.  The  farm  will  do  better 
with  flax,  and  Robert  goes  to  Irvine  to  learn  flax  dressing,  while 
his  father  and  Gilbert  i-emain  at  home  to  raise  the  crop.  He  is 
twenty-two  years  of  age,  with  a  soul  fully  awake,  and  all  his 
powers  beating  in  him  for  some  natural  exercise;  his  poetry, 
his  love,  his  rugged  patriotism,  his  philosophic  meditations,  and 
his  rare  and  exquisite  sensibility  for  natural  beauty — are  all  set 
down  to  break  flax  and  hatchel  it.  This  is  good  work  for  a 
poet.  Why,  yes,  poets,  artists,  and  geniuses  can  do  any  thing? 
if  they  only  know  that  they  are  artists,  poets,  and  geniuses ; 
and  that  a  homely  tool  is  the  mere  means  by  which  they  are  to 
attain  to  better  things.  But  if  they  do  not  know  their  mission, 
if  they  are  coming  and  going  with  all  the  moods  of  contraband 
sensibility,  ignorant  of  their  mission,  and  supposing  that  life's 
business  is  flax  dressing,  and  that  they  are  wasting  their  life- 
power  in  that  engrossing  and  delightful  business ;  is  it  strange 
that  there  should  be  such  rebellion  ? 

This  many-sided  but  all  insided  man,  had  not  yet  concen- 
trated himself  on  any  thing  that  was  appropriate  to  him.  The 
forces  he  was  striving  to  use  were  secondary,  but  those  which 
were  his  real  and  predestined  elements  were  only  allowed  to 
play  alternatively.     So  he  was  inverting  his  life  on  the  very 


28  BURNS    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION, 


threshold,  and  aiming  at  the  wrong  thing  conscientiously,  and 
only  by  stealth  employing  the  glorious  elements  for  whose  very 
sake  he  had  been  born  into  the  world.  What  a  strange  posi- 
tion !  At  one  time  he  appears  as  a  disputant  at  Calvinistic 
theology — a  good  occupation — at  another  time  rollicking  with 
high  fellows  at  a  smuggling  life,  more  full  of  force  and  brave 
daring  than  of  moral  honesty.  At  another  he  is  in  love  and 
jilted  ;  then  lamenting  his  fate;  then,  yet  worse,  he  is  obliged 
to  endure  public  censure  for  the  violation  of  rectitude,  which 
no  man  despised  more  than  he.  Next  he  is  writing  to  his 
father,  and  his  very  sincerity  in  contrast  with  his  vain  ways, 
makes  it  seem  the  more  extraordinary.     lie  says : 

"  The  weakness  of  my  nervous  system  has  so  debilitated  my 
mind,  that  I  dare  neither  review  the  past  events  or  look  into 
futurity,  for  the  least  anxiety  or  perturbation  produces  the 
most  unhappy  eifects  upon  n^y  whole  frame ;  and  sometimes, 
when  for  an  hour  or  two  my  spirits  are  enlightened  and  I  glim- 
mer into  futurity,  I  am  quite  transported  at  the  thought  that 
ere  long,  perhaps  very  soon,  I  shall  bid  eternal  adieu  to  all  the 
pains,  uneasiness,  and  disquietudes  of  this  weary  life ;  for,  I  as- 
sure you,  I  am  heartily  tired  of  it.  But  if  I  do  not  deceive 
myself,  I  could  contentedly  and  gladly  resign  it," 

This  letter  was  dated  the  23rd  of  December.  Three  days 
afterward  his  mind  was  won  back  so  that  he  consented  to  join 
in  a  carouse  to  welcome  in  the  New  Year;  and  as  the  merri- 
ment of  that  occasion  ran  high,  a  spark  caught  the  flax,  and 
the  work  of  six  months  was  burned  in  as  many  minutes. 

The  next  two  years,  his  twenty-third  and  twenty-fourth,  his 
outward  life  was  dull ;  his  real  life,  sociality — good  and  bad. 
His  poetr}^  was  good  in  the  nuxin  ;  l)ut  it  was  yet  poetry  as  a 
relaxation — as  a  resource  from  unprofitable  life.  He  says — 
"  My  passions  once  lighted  raged  up  like  so  many  devils  until 


ORATION.  29 

they  «i;ot  vent  in  rliynie.  Thvu  the  conning  over  my  verses, 
like  a  spell,  soothed  all  into  quiet." 

AVith  all  that  flow  of  S(»ul  in  him  ;  with  his  rebounding  from 
the  higliest  conviviality  to  the  lowest  despondency  ;  with  his 
yearnings  and  longings  for,  he  knew  not  what ;  with  a  sensibil- 
ity that  every  object  caused  to  tremble  ;  with  an  ambition  un- 
derneath them  all,  which  tossed  and  rocked  him  as  the  ocean 
swells  and  rocks  the  ])oats  and  ships  in  the  bay, — he  was  yet 
trying  to  make  himself  think  that  he  was  to  be  a  farmer.  He 
bitterly  felt  this,  what  two  years  afterwards  he  plainly  ex- 
presses— "Oh!  for  a  little  of  the  cart-horse  part  of  human 
nature!" 

Here  was  one  of  the  most  wonderful  men  ever  born,  who 
though  not  humble  in  the  estimate  of  himself,  never  dreamed 
of  his  real  place ;  and,  in  his  most  noble  audacity,  never  as- 
serted for  himself  a  tithe  of  what  the  world  now  eagerly  heaps 
upon  him.  Here  was  this  brave  fellow,  with  his  heart  hot  and 
his  head  inspired  with  all  manner  of  fancies,  tender  and  sub- 
lime, who  was  endeavoring  in  the  most  patient  and  conscien- 
tious way  possible,  not  to  be  what  he  was  made  for,  and  to  be 
what  he  was  not  fitted  for, 

James  Gray,  who  tanght  the  High  School  at  Dumfries,  says 
of  Burns — "In  our  solitary  walks  on  summer  mornings,  the 
simplest  flowret  by  the  way-side,  every  seat  of  rural  simplicity 
and  happiness,  every  creature  that  seemed  to  drink  of  the  joy 
of  the  season,  awakened  the  sympathy  of  his  heart  which  flowed 
in  spontaneous  music  from  his  lips;  and  every  new  opening 
beauty,  or  the  magnificence  of  tiie  scene  before  him,  called  forth 
the  poetry  of  his  soul." 

It  was  not  his  fault  that  God  made  him  a  poet.  It  was  not 
his  fault  that  his  heart  was  a  heart  upon  which  nature  played. 
It  was  not  his  fault  that  be  did  not  know  where  his  strength  lay. 


30  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five  liis  fatlier  died,  and  his  brother 
Gilbert,  himself,  and  his  mother  had  taken  a  farm.  Now  he 
means  to  settle  this  vexed  question.  Now  he  means  to  be  a 
farmer  in  earnest ;  to  thrive  and  do  well.  "  I  had  entered  upon 
this  farm,"  he  says,  ''  with  a  full  resolution — Come,  go  to  !  I 
will  be  wise.  I  read  farming  books,  I  attended  markets,  I  cal- 
culated crops,  and,  in  short,  in  spite  of  the  devil  and  the  world 
and  the  flesh,  I  believe  1  should  have  been  a  wise  man,  but  the 
first  year,  from  unfortunately  buying  bad  seed,  the  second  from 
a  late  harvest,  we  lost  half  our  crops." 

No,  not  yet.  Burns  could  not  be  a  farmer  first,  then  a  poet. 
He  would  never  thrive  until  his  real  genius  had  a  full  oppor- 
tunity of  expression.  When  once  he  had  poured  his  life  forth 
in  its  true  channels,  and  had  felt  that  at  length  he  had  touched 
the  aim  of  his  being,  then  he  might  have  become  secondarily  a 
good  farmer ;  but  not  now.  And  thus  while  he  bought  poor 
seed  for  farming,  he  was  sowing  good  seed  for  poetry.  For 
besides  his  bitter  tlieological  invective,  he  this  year  planted  for 
immortality  such  poems  as  Halloween,  and  the  Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night.  Though  he  had  a  late  harvest  of  his  land,  it  was 
early  and  good  in  his  brain. 

At  length,  at  twenty-six  years  of  age,  he  ventured  to  write 
"Robert  Burns,  Poet;"  and  even  then  it  was  a  title  of  honor, 
and  not  his  real  name.  Even  now,  his  being  a  poet  is  some- 
thing aside  from  the  real  purpose  of  his  life.  On  the  first  of 
August,  1786,  he  published  the  first  volume  of  his  poems,  by 
which  he  realized  One  Hundred  Dollars.  One  Hundred  Dol- 
lars !  Many  an  enterprising  publisher  would  have  been  glad 
to  give  him  a  thousand — for  that  matter,  ten  thousand — dollars 
for  one  of  them. 

He  had  got  into  great  trouble.  The  mother  of  his  babes  was 
not  his  wife.     Persecution  hung  over  him  ;  his  farming  labors 


ORATION.  31 


were  disastrous,  and  he  determined,  as  the  last  resort  of  a  broken- 
down  and  discoiira<i:;o(l  man,  to  go  to  Jamaica  as  aii  overseer  of 
a  plantation.  1  think  I  see  Robert  Burns  on  a  plantation,  witli 
a  whip  under  liis  arm  !  I  think  I  see  Robert  Burns  following 
a  gang  of  slaves,  and  chaunting  "A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that." 
Poor  Burns  was  in  a  very  bad  way,  but  he  was  not  as  bad  as 
that. 

A  new  era  dawned.  By  the  fame  of  his  published  poems, 
he  was  summoned  to  Edinburgh,  and  for  nearly  a  year  he  was 
courted  and  honored,  and  feted^  in  that  splendid  metropolis  of 
the  north,  by  men  who  then  attracted  universal  attention,  and 
yet  became  more  eminent  for  being  the  friends  of  Burns.  His 
modesty,  his  self-possession,  his  wonderful  conversation,  before 
which  learned  and  practiced  talkers  bowed  and  acknowledged 
that  the  ploughman  av as  their  master;  his  brilliant  wit  and 
overflowing  humor;  his  wonderful  insight  into  human  life;  his 
passionate  earnestness  and  eloquence,  his  sweetness,  and  good 
heartedness ;  all  his  social  qualities  show  that  if  Burns  had 
from  the  first  been  placed  in  favorable  circumstances,  there 
would  have  been  fewer  shadows  to  mar  the  brilliancy  of  a  fair 
fame.  It  is  abundantly  ])lain  that  if  he  had  found  as  many 
friends  to  establish  him  in  life,  as  he  found  afterwards  to  build 
his  monument,  tlie  world  would  not  have  had  such  a  melan- 
choly story  of  his  suffei-ings  and  death.  But  so  it  is.  This 
world  is  made  for  men  who  need  no  help  while  alive;  and 
there  are  always  reasons  found  for  not  helping  men  whom  the 
world  afterwards  mourns  to  the  end ;  and  yet,  while  they  mourn, 
their  tears  fall  upon  other  men  who  are  just  as  mucii  neglected 
as  those  for  whom  they  weep. 

Burns  with  the  profits  of  his  book  now  takes  a  farm  at  Ellis- 
land,  about  forty  miles  from  his  own.  He  married  Jean  Ar- 
mour, whom  he  had  long  loved  and  would  have  married  before. 


32  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

if  her  fatlier  had  consented.  Burns  now  being  a  man  of  repu- 
tation, a  national  poet,  turns  from  the  dissipations  of  Ediuboro' 
to  become  in  earnest  a  farmer.  The  ilhision  is  not  out  yet,  for 
he  says  to  a  correspondent,  "  as,  till  within  these  eighteen 
months,  I  never  w^as  the  wealthy  master  of  ten  guineas,  my 
knowledge  of  business  is  to  learn ;  skill  in  the  sober  science  of 
life  is  my  most  serious  and  hearty  study."  This  was  very  well, 
you  say.  Every  one  can  but  wish  that  being  so  much,  it  had 
been  more,  and  that  snug,  practical  sagacity  had  been  added  to 
his  poetical  temperament.  A  man  must  have  two  natures  to 
be  a  poet  and  a  prosperous  business  man.  They  seldom  are 
united ;  yet,  as  it  was.  Burns  vowed  most  solemnly  and  most 
foolishly  two  impossible  things,  namely,  that  he  would  forego 
poetry  and  all  its  temptations,  and  embrace  industry  in  all  its 
drudging  particulars,  and  "  Heaven  be  my  helper,"  for  it  will 
take  a  strong  effort  to  bring  my  mind  to  the  routine  of  business. 
I  have  discharged  the  army  of  all  my  former  pursuits,  fancies 
and  pleasures.  So,  now,  we  shall  have  Robert  Burns  without 
an  eye,  except  for  profits.  No  more  flowers  are  to  grace  his 
vision,  no  more  clouds  are  to  sail  above  liis  head,  no  more 
brooks  to  rush  along  under  fringing  bushes,  no  more  heart- 
throbs of  patriotic  fervor,  and  no  more  deep  and  sad  out-look- 
ings  upon  human  life,  no  more  liumorous  conceptions  of  liuman 
folly  and  fashion.  Robert  Burns  forswears  all  this.  The  mouse 
may  find  no  house,  the  liare  may  die  in  the  thicket,  the  birds 
may  interpret  their  own  musical  lingo ;  as  for  Burns,  he  is  going 
to  lay  aside  poetry  and  attend  to  tlie  crops.  Thus  this  great 
soul,  with  tlie  whole  fitness  of  life  before  it,  dare  not  embrace 
it,  and  with  the  whole  unfitness  of  his  nature  makes  a  covenant 
with  business  for  life.  It  turned  out,  as  one  might  imagine  ; 
and  Tiot  a  great  ways  to  New  Year's  day,  1789,  he  writes : 
"  I   have  some  favorite  flowers  in  spring,  among  which  are 


ORATION.  So 


the  mountain  daisy,  the  hare-bell,  the  fox-g;love,  the  wild  brier- 
rose,  the  buddinii:  birch,  and  the  hoary  hawthorn,  that  I  view 
and  hang  over  with  ])articnlar  delight.  I  never  hear  the  luiid, 
solitaiy  whis^tle  of  the  curlew  in  a  summer  morn,  or  the  Mild 
mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  grey  i)lovers,  in  an  autumnal 
morning,  without  feeling  an  elevation  of  soul  like  the  enthusi- 
asm of  devotion  or  poetry.  Tell  me,  my  dear  friend,  to  what 
can  this  be  owing?" 

Ah,  indeed,  to  what?  It  is  not  to  farming  evidentlv  that  it 
is  owing.  And  these  symptoms  of  back-sliding  from  farming 
to  poetry  ended  in  open  apostac}^,  for  within  four  days  after 
this.  Burns  writes  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Moore :  "  The  character 
and  employment  of  a  poet  were  formerly  my  pleasure,  but  now 
my  pride.  '•'  *  *  Poesy  I  a!n  determined  to  prosecute  with 
all  my  vigor." 

His  doubts  becoming  confirmed  that  his  farming  would  not 
be  remunerative,  much  against  his  taste,  and  repugnant  to  his 
nature, he  thought  of  becoming  an  excise-man  ;  but  he  says,  his 
wite  and  children  reconciled  him  to  it.  Fifty  pounds  a  year 
are  the  temptation.  Fifry  pounds  a  _year!  Acknowledged  to 
be  the  iirst  poet  of  Scotland,  driven  to  destitution,  and  to  tak- 
ing a  most  dangerous  occupation  for  his  family's  sake,  that  he 
might  be  sure  of  bread  !  His  fears  tliat  he  should  make  i)oor 
work  with  the  farm  were  soon  more  than  fears.  He  writes 
to  a  friend  in  December,  1789:  '*  I  am  writing  you  on  a 
farm.  "'^  -  ""^  My  poor  distracted  mind  is  torn,  and  so 
jaded,  and  so  wrecked,  so  be-deviled  with  the  attempt  to 
nudvc  one  guinea  do  the  business  of  three,  that  I  detest,  abhor, 
and  swoon  at  the  word  business."  There's  a  man  to  make 
money ! 

He  writes  to  Mr.  Hill : — "  I  want  a  Shakspeare;  I  want  like- 
wise an  English  Dictionary.  Johnson's,  I  suppose,  is  best.     In 


3i  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


these  and  all  my  prose  commissions,  the  cheapest  is  always  the 
best  for  me." 

The  duties  of  excise-man  were  just  the  kind  to  spoil  a  far- 
mer, and  we  must  add  to  spoil  a  man.  For  although  it  was 
not,  as  he  terms  it,  a  pleasant  task,  yet  to  be  on  horseback 
mainly,  under  the  whole  heaven  dashing  to  and  fro  amidst 
beautiful  scenery,  and  meeting  jovial  men,  and  being  enter- 
tained by  those  jovial  men,  who  would  gladly  fill  an  hour  with 
a  man  of  Burns' genius,  overflowing  gaiety,  and  strong  common 
sense,  was -as  pleasant  as  it  proved  dangerous. 

His  stay  at  Ellisland  was  short.  He  removed  to  Dumfries 
in  1791,  to  be  occupied  solely  with  the  excise  duties.  Here  he 
dwelt  live  years.  Let  those  who  have  a  heart  for  morbid  anat- 
omy pursue  the  desponding  poet  in  his  uncongenial  occupation, 
while  rebounding  from  it  into  convivialities  and  pleasures 
which  his  whole  moral  nature  condemned  with  boiling  indig- 
nation, and  which  almost  literally  seethed  him  in  remorse. 
The  English  tongue  has  no  language  of  remorse  that  surpasses 
Burns'  in  some  of  his  letters.  But  I  have  no  heart  for  such 
scenes. 

The  last  five  years  of  his  life  were  wonderfully  fruitful  of 
excpnsite  poetry.  It  was  from  Dumfries  he  sent  more  than  a 
hundred  songs  which  will  live  as  long  as  the  human  heart 
shall  inspire  the  lips.  His  last  letters  were  to  friends  beseech- 
ing some  small  levies  to  save  him  from  jail  and  his  family  from 
starvation,  and  the  money  was  refused.  Yet  so  scrupulous  was 
this  man  in  respect  to  his  expenses  that  when  he  died  he  owed 
no  man  a  penny  in  the  world. 

At  length  on  the  2l8t  of  July,  1796,  Kobert  Burns  was  per- 
mitted to  depart  out  of  that  mortal  tenement — to  give  to  dust 
again  that  body  which  for  thirty-seven  years  bore  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  natures  that  time  has  ever  known.     No  man 


ORATION.  35 

has  ever  dreamed  of  making  Burns  a  saint,  and  no  one  need 
dispute  his  moral  cliiims.  No  man  can  write  anything  upon 
liis  weaknesses  and  faults  and  sins  which  will  not  seem  pale 
and  lifeless  beside  his  own  recorded  words.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  English  language  in  testimony  of  domestic  virtues  more 
earnest,  wholesome,  and  conscientious  than  his  own.  There  are 
no  wailings  more  agonizing  for  the  violation  of  ])urity  ;  no  suf- 
fering that  nnites  in  its  expression  such  simple,  heartfelt  con- 
fession of  wrong  with  such  pleadings  against  an  indiscriminate 
judgment  against  him  ;  and  neither  moralist  nor  judge  can  ever 
add  anything  to  the  effectiveness  of  Burns'  condemnation  of 
those  errors  which  clouded  his  life,  eclipsed  his  joy,  and  at  last 
ended  his  career.  For  my  own  part,  in  pursuing  the  necessary 
investigation  for  this  task,  which  the  partiality  of  his  country- 
men (and  now  my  countrymen,)  have  imposed  upon  me,  I 
vibrated  continually  between  smiles  and  tears,  between  admi- 
ration and  sorrow,  between  wonder  and  pity,  between  rever- 
ence and  condemnation.  But  amidst  all  these  oppositions  and 
conflicting  opinions,  steadily  from  the  beginning  Burns  has 
grown  upon  my  heart.  I  have  felt  at  every  step  more  and 
more  tenderly  the  sorrow  of  one  that  loves,  and  when  I  have 
laid  him  in  the  grave  it  is  with  the  grief  of  one  who  buries  a 
brother  or  son.  No  man  could  keep  company  with  him,  even 
with  the  shadows  of  this  wonderful  creature,  and  not  feel  his 
power.  His  vitality  is  beyond  all  example;  his  fullness  inex- 
haustible; his  richness  beyond  all  terms.  Every  letter,  every 
sentence,  teems — untrained,  irregular  and  wild,  yet  you  feel 
that  he  is  master  even  in  your  criticisms,  and  in  your  judg- 
ments you  find  and  feel  that  he  is  superior.  There  was  more 
put  into  the  making  of  Burns  than  in  any  man  in  his  age. 
That  which  he  has  given  to  us  of  himself  does  by  no  means 
express  or  interpret  the  whole  of  what  he  was.     A  great  deal 


36  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

of  his  nature  is  like  undng  gold  and  unwashed  diamonds. 
His  songs  and  poems  are  like  gold  wliich  you  find  in  the  Call- 
foi-nian  rivers,  scattered  particles,  indicating  how  rich  are  the 
veins  from  which  they  were  disintegrated.  His  letters  are  as 
wonderfnl  as  his  poems,  and  his  conversation  is  regarded  as 
richer  than  either.  While  a  half  idiot  was  picking  up,  in 
London,  eveiT  little  contemptible  acorn  that  fell  from  the 
rugged  bi-anches  of  that  gnarled  old  oak,  Johnson,  I  would 
that  some  dainty  Ariel  could  have  waited  upon  the  inspired 
ploughman,  and  stamped  into  record  the  inexhaustible  flow 
of  his  wonderful  and  rapturous  conversation.  But  for  the 
most  part  it  fell  upon  wasteful  cars  of  men,  unfit  to  know  its 
worth.  The  multitude  of  Btirns's  thoughts  and  most  brilliant 
expressions  hang  in  the  past  as  crystals  and  white  stalactites 
hang  in  unexplored  caves,  wonderfully  beautiful,  but  forever 
hidden  in  darkness. 

Such  is  the  vitality  of  Burns,  that  there  is  not  a  place  where 
he  put  his  foot,  where  there  has  not  sprung  up  historical  flow- 
ers ;  and  men,  eminent  before,  have  added  to  their  eminence 
if  Burns  took  tliem  by  the  hand.  The  spots  that  were  hoary 
with  historic  glor}^  were  destined  to  receive  additional  attrac- 
tion if  Burns  visited  them  and  touched  them  with  his  pen. 
Such  vital  force  and  such  liclmess  of  soul  had  he,  that  there 
is  no  spot  on  the  face  of  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  that  was 
not  crowded  with  memorials.  His  foot-prints,  now  a  hundred 
years  old,  are  yet  warm.  Artists,  poets,  historians,  laymen  of 
every  name  follow  them  with  eager  enthusiasm  and  with  full 
cry.  Alive,  his  cry  of  dying  despair  coukl  not  wring  a  pitiful 
ten  pounds  from  indebted  hands  to  save  him  from  ruin.  To- 
day, he  has  made  the  world  rich.  Alive,  he  could  not  earn 
food  and  raiment,  nor  control  his  livelihood  ;  but  since  the 
dropping  of  the  flesh  he  has  clothed   millions  with  garments 


ORATION.  37 


of  joy  and  fed  them  with  the  food  of  manhood  and  sturdy 
conrao'e.  His  life  was  a  faihirc  until  he  died.  Ever  since  it 
has  been  a  marvelous  success;  and  death,  that  overthrew  him, 
like  the  wind  that  scatters  the  dry  seeds  from  the  autumn 
boughs  and  whirls  them  away  over  the  land,  has  scattered 
his  thoughts  into  all  the  earth,  to  live  and  grow  while  there 
is  soil  in  the  human  mind  to  receive  the  seeds  of  genius.  Had 
he  known  the  future,  it  would  have  consoled  his  heart,  so 
yearning  for  sympathy,  so  longing  and  hankering  for  a  true 
fame  amidst  the  ignoble  struggles  of  his  battling  life.  That 
sturdy  soul  felt  the  true  meaning  of  manhood  and  the  supe- 
riority of  maidiood  to  the  mere  trappings  of  place  and  adven- 
titious <»;lory  ;  and  he  walks  crowned  with  praise  and  wreathed 
with  loving  smiles  in  all  the  habitable  globe.  He  is  the  insep- 
arable companion  of  the  Scot  wherever  he  goes,  and  where  is 
there  a  nook  or  isle  of  the  earth  where  the  Scotchman  does  not 
go  to  nuike  much  out  of  a  little,  and  make  it  easy?  Where- 
ever  he  goes  Burns  goes  with  him.  He  is  read  in  the  camp, 
in  the  tropical  forest,  by  the  glare  of  torches  in  the  South,  and 
the  light  of  the  aurora-boreal  is  in  the  North.  There  is  not  a 
white  hawthorn  that  blossoms  in  any  spot  upon  the  globe  that 
has  not  been  made  dear  by  Burns  ;  and  Scotland  in  her  joys 
and  sorrows,  and  in  her  whole  heart  is  known  throughout  the 
earth  as  much  by  the  songs  of  Burns  as  by  her  boasted  sons, 
noble  as  they  are,  and  by  her  historians.  Strange  the  power 
of  the  unfleshed  spirit. 

Burns  shows  that  it  is  not  books  that  teach  men  to  wrestle 
with  the  passions  of  the  human  life,  but  a  heart.  There  is  this 
rough-clad  son  of  earth  touching  the  marrow  of  things  in  his 
cold  and  sequestered  nook,  pondering  over  things  which  sad- 
dened the  heart  of  the  great  legislator,  which  tinged  Homer's 
view  of  life,  and  which  engaged  the  minds  of  Plato  and  So- 


4107:25 


'38  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


crates  and  every  thinking  man  to  the  Advent,  and  since  then. 
I  think  the  worst  things  of  Burns  were  written  early — his  bit- 
ter invectives  and  raillery.  As  he  lived  to  see  real  trouble 
and  to  struggle  with  the  stream  of  life,  his  stream  of  poetry, 
with  some  sad  exceptions,  ran  clearer.  His  most  exquisite 
songs,  his  finest  delineations  of  nature,  his  most  noble  strains 
and  thoughtful  appeals  were  the  fruits  of  his  middle  and  later 
life.  But  it  seems  a  mockery  almost  to  speak  of  the  later 
periods  of  a  life  which  ended  before  most  men's  lives  are 
earnestly  begun.  At  forty  men  are  fully  men.  Burns  had 
been  dead  three  years,  wdien  the  number  of  forty  was  counted 
from  the  day  of  his  birth.  And  had  it  pleased  Him  who 
wielded  this  bright  star  in  our  firmament,  to  have  permitted 
it  to  be  advanced,  until  it  filled  out  its  orbit  here,  wliat  might 
we  not  have  inherited?  Had  his  life  reached  as  far  as  his 
father's  or  mother's  we  should  now  be  speaking  of  those  works 
we  have  from  his  hands  as  the  mere  first  fruits  of  his  labors. 
All  we  now  possess,  perad venture,  would  then  have  seemed 
like  his  own  harebells  and  daisies.  To  him  it  was  given  to 
lift  up  the  lowly.  No  finer  genius  has  ever  delineated  the 
external  forms  of  nature.  No  poet  has  ever  better  sung  the 
humors  of  his  fellow  men.  He  lifted  up  the  superstitions  of 
the  time  and  gave  them  beauty  ;  and  gathering  up  the  lower 
thoughts  of  men,  and  shedding  the  light  of  his  genius  upon 
them,  has  made  them  beautiful  forever.  He  danced'  with 
witclies  in  the  kirk  yard,  and  followed  with  them  through  the 
grim  air.  He  hung  flowers  even  upon  the  brow  of  Satan ; 
Milton  did  the  same ;  and  I  think  the  reverence  of  the  one, 
and  the  veneration  of  the  other  was  about  alike.  But  all  these 
were  the  mere  externals  of  poetry.  The  life  and  power  of  his 
work  was  in  that  deep  moral  element  which  i)ervaded  his 
nature  and  gave  out  such  sacred  grandeur,  and  which  lifted 


OliATIOX.  IVJ 

Upon  the  eternal  future  such  trembling  and  agonizing  glances. 
The  power  of  Burns's  songs  consists  in  their  moral  tone.  If 
that  were  dissolved  from  them,  they,  too,  would  dissolve  and 
fall  in  pieces.  It  is  not  wit  nor  humor,  nor  pathos,  which  was 
the  centre  of  Burns.  When  you  look  upon  a  tree,  it  is  not 
the  wood — the  root,  which  strikes  the  eye  ;  it  is  the  thousand 
branches  and  ten  thousand  leaves  and  buds  and  blossoms. 
And  yet  that  sober,  solid  centre  of  wood  is  that  which  enables 
the  tree  to  support  so  many  boughs,  to  shake  so  many  leaves, 
and  shed  its  perfume  abroad.  Thus  it  is  with  Burns.  Some 
leaves  fall  from  his  boughs,  worm-eaten;  some  of  the  branches 
may  be  maimed  or  cankered ;  but  the  great  tree,  the  centre, 
the  substance,  stands  up  hearty,  healthy,  human,  and  divine. 
Some  have  supposed  that  our  solar  system,  in  its  vast  trav- 
erses of  space,  strikes  at  times  aerial  streams  of  warmth  or 
cold,  making  some  years  memorable  over  others  for  the  degree 
of  heat  or  cold  which  attends  them ;  so  the  world  seems  to 
swing  through  vast  cycles  of  ideas.  The  time  in  which  Burns 
lived  was  eminent  for  the  outburst,  all  over  the  civilized  world, 
of  the  spirit  of  Liberty.  This  divine  spirit  came  forth  as  did 
Lazarus  from  the  sepulchre,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  in  the 
habiliments  of  the  grave.  Liberty  in  politics  ran  wantonly 
into  license,  and  liberty  in  religion  went  into  blind  infidelity. 
Yet  the  spirit  of  liberty  pervaded  the  world  ;  and  no  man  in 
all  that  period  was  a  more  faithful  apostle  of  liberty  than  Burns. 
It  did  not  develop  itself  in  jiolitical  theories  or  philosophical 
speculation.  It  did  not  touch  the  external  forms  of  society  at 
all ;  it  went  to  the  root  of  all  things — the  ineradicable  worth 
of  man  as  a  child  of  God — a  frail  experimental  creature  of 
time,  a  lingering,  wistftd,  expectant  of  a  better  state.  The 
dignity  and  rights  of  the  individual  inspired  Burns,  and  burned 
like  an  unquenchable  fire  upon  the  altar  of  his  soul.      lie  had 


40  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBKATION. 

no  enmitv  to  kings — but  always  first  and  last  in  his  earliest 
poetry  as  well  as  in  the  latest,  he  bore  witness  with  all  the 
fidelity  of  an  apostle  and  power  of  the  poet  to  the  fundamental 
doctrine  that  essential  Manhood  is  tiie  only  greatness,  and  that 
nothing  can  exalt  a  man  but  himself,  and  nothing  degrade  him 
but  himself.  Through  his  whole  life,  this  life  for  man  was 
eminently  not  for  him  who  had  wealth,  learning,  iuiluence, 
position,  and  power,  but  for  man  in  his  simple  nature,  as  given 
by  God.  ISTo  tenderer  heart  ever  cheered  the  sorrowful  and 
the  need}'.  Xo  poet  ever  poured  upon  the  heart  more  balm 
or  fragrance  than  he.  ISTo  name  has  ever  made  manhood  more 
resonant  in  virtues,  or  more  nobly  invested  man  with  honesty, 
reliance,  patience,  contentment,  and  self-respect,  than  Burns. 
His  poems  are  a  torch  that  never  goes  out,  to  all  who  are  in 
dark  places;  and  no  man  harassed  by  trouble,  distracted  by 
temptation,  overcome  by  passion,  and  plunged  in  remorse, 
but  will  find  language  for  his  woes  in  the  poetry  of  Burns. 
He  himself  has  felt  the  sins  and  ills  of  the  flesh,  and  no  )nan, 
among  the  school  of  jioets,  ever  was  so  true  to  his  kind, 
rejoicing  with  those  that  rejoice,  and  weeping  with  those  that 
weep  ;  and  the  nation  which  read  Burns  in  the  nursery  could 
never  have  tyrants  in  the  Parliament  House.  The  men  who 
drink  at  Burns's  spring  will  be  too  sturdy  for  oppression,  too 
courageous  for  power  to  tamper  with,  and  with  too  much  self- 
respect  for  blandishments  and  bribes.  Burns  had  pre-eminently 
this  love  for  man  in  all  his  moods,  weaknesses,  sorrows,  joys, 
hopes,  and  fears  for  life,  and  for  eternal  life.  He  is  universal 
in  his  sympathy.  He  loves  the  very  shoe-latches  of  the  poor 
Scotch  peasant.  He  loves  the  very  daisy  his  shoe  trod  upon. 
Terrible  often  Avith  rage  that  sounds  as  thunder  in  the  uiomi- 
tains,  yet  it  is  love  both  personal  and  general  that  marks  the 
poems  of  Burns,  and  that  gives  them  their  womlrous  vitality, 


ORATION.  41 


and  will  never  let  them  die  so  long  as  a  soul  yearns,  or  hearts 
desire  to  be  tenderly  cheered. 

Finally,  to-nii;;lit  let  us  give  to  the  memory  of  Burns  some- 
thing of  that  food  of  love  and  praise  which  his  own  soul  hun- 
gered for,  his  life  long,  and  never  had.  If  he  has  faults,  let  us, 
like  them  of  old,  walking  backward  with  reverence  and  affec- 
tion, cast  a  mantle  uj)(»n  them.  If  every  man  within  these 
twenty-four  hours  the  world  around  who  shall  speak  the  name 
of  Burns  with  fond  admiration  were  registered  as  his  subjects, 
no  king  on  earth  would  have  such  a  realm.  Finally,  coidd 
each  feeling  be  changed  into  a  flower,  and  cast  down  before 
his  memory,  a  mountain  would  arise,  and  he  would  sit  upon  a 
rose  of  blossoms  now  at  length  without  a  thorn. 

[When  Mr.  Beecher  had  concluded  his  eloquent  address,  he 
received  the  congratulations  of  a  number  of  distinguished  citi- 
zens, and  was  tendered  the  thanks  of  the  audience  by  acclama- 
tion.] 
6 


ASTOR     HOUSE 


On  Tuesday  evening,  January  25,  1859,  the  Centennial  An- 
niversary was  celebrated  by  a  Festival  at  the  Astor  House.  The 
established  character  of  this  time-honored  and  popular  hotel, 
together  with  the  fact  that,  in  previous  years,  many  a  brilliant 
assembly  had  gathered  there  to  honor  the  memory  of  Burns, 
commended  it  to  the  committee  of  arrangements  as  peculiarly 
appropriate  for  this  celebration. 

The  courteous  host,  Mr.  Charles  A.  Stetson,  with  his  asso- 
ciates and  assistants,  had  made  ample  arrangements  for  the 
reception  and  accommodation  of  the  company.  The  dinner 
w'as  to  be  served  in  the  spacious  dining-room,  three  tables 
being  arranged  in  parallel  lines,  at  the  head  of  which,  upon  a 
dais,  was  the  table  designed  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
Chairman  and  guests.  The  room  was  appropriately  decorated 
M'ith  the  national  flags  of  America,  England,  Scotland,  and 
Ireland  ;  and  a  number  of  illustrative  paintings,  several  of 
whicli  were  executed  expressly  for  this  occasion.  Among 
them  was  one,  eighteen  by  twenty-five  feet,  painted  by  James 
L.  Dick,  a  member  of  tlie  Club,  representing  Burns  at  the 
Plow,  and  the  Genius  of  Poetry  casting  her  mantle  over  him. 
There  were  also  four  large  paintings  by  IIillyard,  represent- 
ing the  Return  from  Labor,  from  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night ;"    a  scene  from  "  Tam  O'Shanter ;"  Burns's  Cottage  ; 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  43 

and  Ills  Mouuinent  at  Ayr.  A  large  portrait  of  Burns,  draped 
with  flags,  was  suspended  at  tlie  liead  of  tlie  room;  on  the 
right,  a  iine  portrait  of  Washington  ;  on  the  left,  one  of  Frank- 
lin :  the  two  last  painted  by  Yanderlyn  and  Duplessis.  In 
front  of  the  guests'  table  were  placed  a  bust  of  Burns  and  one 
of  Walter  Scott — that  of  Burns  M^as  crowned  with  a  laurel 
wreath,  and  was  a  copy  of  the  much  admired  original  ex- 
ecuted by  J.  C.  King,  of  Boston,  who  was  present  among  the 
guests. 

Various  articles  of  interest,  in  connection  with  Burns,  were 
contributed  for  the  occasion.  Among  them : — A  piece  of 
bark,  elegantly  framed,  cut  from  a  tree  on  Burns's  farm,  on 
which  is  carved  the  inscription  "  R.  Burns,  1779  ;"  presented 
by  the  wife  of  the  poet  to  Mr.  Kenwick,  now  of  this  city  ;  also 
an  old  Jacobite  song  book,  well  worn,  formei'ly  in  possession 
of  Burns,  contributed  by  the  same  gentleman  : — A  lock  of 
Burns's  hair,  and  an  impression  of  his  seal,  furnished  by  Mr. 
Dinwiddle,  Secretary  of  St.  Andrews'  Society : — Various  other 
articles,  for  use  or  ornament,  were  furnished  by  Messrs,  Wm. 
Gibson,  J.  C.  McRae,  T.  Lynch,  Captain  Wm.  Manson,  and 
others. 

At  an  early  hour  the  company  began  to  assemble.  Every 
seat  had  been  disposed  of,  and  large  as  was  the  number  pres- 
ent, it  might  have  been  greatly  increased,  as  in  several 
instances  high  premiums  were  offered  for  tickets.  A  number 
of  gentlemen  were  present  in  full  Highland  costume,  represent- 
ing the  Caledonian  Club.  The  members  and  quests  wore  ap- 
propriate badges  of  rich  silk  tartan. 

At  the  proper  time  the  company  proceeded  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  remained  standing  in  their  places,  awaiting  the 
entrance  of  the  Honorary  Chairman  and  guests,  who  appeared 
immediately  after,  preceded  by  a  piper  in  full  costume,  and 


44 


BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION, 


escorted  by  the  President  of  the  Club.  On  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  Bryant,  and  as  he  passed  through  the  long  lines  of  the 
com^Jany  to  the  liead  of  the  room,  he  was  greeted  with  simul- 
taneous enthusiasm. 

Before  the  company  were  seated,  grace  was  said  by  Rev. 
Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

The  names  of  the  guests  and  others  are  annexed. 

AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  EOOM.  UPON  THE  DAIS. 


The  Honorary  Chairman, 
WILLIAM   CULLEN  BRYANT, 


8UPPOETED    By 


FiTz  Greene  IIalleck, 
Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beeciier,  Gulian  C.  Verplanck, 


Rev.  Samuel  Osgood, 
James  T.  Brady, 
Charles  Gould, 
Horace  Greeley, 
Parke  Godwin, 
Louis  R.  Mignot, 


Hon.  D.  F.  Tiemann, 
Dr.  John  W.  Francis, 
Peter  Cooper, 
J.  C.  King  (of  Boston), 
Wm.  S.  Thayer, 
H.  W.  L.  Barnes, 
J.  Cunningham, 

Pkcprescnting  Burns  Clnb. 


AT  THE  central  TABLE,  FACING  THE  CHAIR. 


The  Honorary  Vice  President, 


EDWARD   M.  ARCHIBALD  (H.  B.  M.  Consul,) 


SUPPORTED    HY 


Dr.  J.  C.  Beales, 

Pres.  St.  George's  Society. 
Adam  Norrie, 

Pres.  St.  Andrews  Society. 
Richard  Bell, 

rejjresent.  St.  Patrick's  Soc. 


William  Young, 

Editor  N.  Y'.  Albion. 
Mr.  Andrews, 

late  IT.  S.  Con.  Gen.  in  Can'a. 
Major  Gen.  Chas.  W.  Sanford, 
Dr.  Ward. 


THE   CENTENARY    FESTIVAL. 


45 


on  the  ilioiit  and  left. 
Joseph  Latng, 

First  Vice  President  of  the  Club. 


John  D.  Norcott, 

Second  Vice  President. 
THE  COMPANY  GENERALLY,  INCLUDING   MEMBERS. 


Robert  Dinwiddie, 

Robert  McClellan, 

J.  Coleridge  Hart, 

Jas.  W.  Maitland, 

Stuart  Garden, 

John  Morton, 

Robert  Gordon, 

Alex.  Gaw, 

Col.  Wm.  Halsey, 

John  Betts, 

Isaac  Hoose, 

Col.  Thos.  Tate, 

Geo.  Cruiksiiank, 

Timothy  Waters, 

Jas.  Somerville,             | 

James  F.  White, 

William  Templar, 

John  Somerville, 

John  McClure, 

Geo.  Mitchell, 

James  C.  Derby, 

Thos.  C.  M.  Paton, 

John  Parker, 

Edwin  Jackson, 

Wm.  Paton, 

Rob't  Struthers, 

John  K.  Allen, 

L.  Agnew, 

Wm.  H.  Morrison, 

Henry  S.  Allen, 

Jas.  B.  Cochran, 

John  Hay  bourn. 

Geo.  Nimmo, 

John  Gkierson, 

David  B.  Drysdale, 

Wm.  Hepburn, 

John  Roberton, 

Thos.  Weldon, 

Wm.  Wakefield, 

Callender, 

John  T.  Howell, 

Rob't  Neilson, 

Anderson, 

Clutt, 

John  A.  Parks, 

Benj.  B.  Tilt, 

Robert  Cross, 

Wm.  Lang, 

Jas.  Harvey, 

I.  A.  Morand, 

Wm.  Park, 

John  H.  Raymond, 

J.  C.  McRae, 

Chas.  Burns, 

Thos.  Blackburn, 

P.  Stevenson, 

Thos.  Gow, 

Arch'd  Park, 

Wm.  Mathews, 

Edward  Fisher, 

Henry  Sibree, 

L.  McIntosh  (Iowa), 

John  A.  McLean, 

John  Whittaker, 

Captain  Reid, 

T.  C.  Latto, 

H.  Crabi'Ree, 

Geo.  Brodie, 

Rob't  Gun, 

Geo.  Marshall, 

CiiAS.  Burt, 

Edward  Kearney, 

Edward  Courtlandt, 

C.  D.  Newman, 

Wm.  Mansox, 

Andrew  S.  Eadie, 

David  Mirand.\, 

John  Robertson, 

T.  B.  Peddie, 

Geo.  Simpson, 

John  R.  Hunter, 

John  L.  Bailey, 

Jas.  G.  Maeder, 

Wm.  Brough, 

46 


BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 


Robert  Rait, 
J.  T.  Miller  (Montreal), 
John  Ireland, 
Edward  Walker, 
Alex.  McEwen, 
Alex.  Campbell, 
John  J.  Mum, 
John  Steuart, 
J.  Fred.  Milward, 
G-EO.  A.  Clark, 
Peter  McLeod, 
F.  Nicholson, 

Emerson, 

Armstrong, 

J.  Cameron, 
m.  conachie, 
Adam  Stodart, 
Jas.  Wotherspoon, 
"Wm.  MgNab, 
R.  W.  Turner, 
Thos.  Glendinning, 
Wm.  B.  Edgar, 
RoBT.  Edgar, 
Adam  Farish, 
Alex.  M.  McKat, 
Jas.  Picken, 

Brown, 

Alex.  Cross, 
Alfred  R.  Booth, 
Jas.  Cumming, 
bavid  Lamb, 
John  Moffat, 


C.  S.  Grafulla, 
Dr.  F.  GouRAUD, 
Frank  Leslie, 
James  Renwick, 
G.  Swan, 
T.  Horn,  Jr., 
T.  Lynch, 
Geo.  H.  Andrews, 
John  McAuliffe, 
H.  Maass, 
John  Foster, 
Page  Gale, 
F.  Kellers, 

Verden, 

Benj.  F.  Miller, 
Geo.  S.  Hartt, 
Henry  Hillyard, 

Moorhead, 

John  Aitken,  Sen., 
Richard  Cochrane, 
Robert  Meldrum, 
W.  S.  Clirehugh, 
Vair  Clirehugh,  Jr., 
Jas.  Watson, 
L.  Markey, 
J.  M.  Morrison, 
Rob't  Macfarlane, 
Jas.  Nicholson, 
David  Rutherford, 
Wm.  Burns, 
John  Crabtree, 
David  Stewart, 


John  McDonough, 
Wm.  Robertson, 
Dr.  Wm.  Johnson, 
Geo.  Rintoul, 
John  R.  Watson, 
John  Muir, 
Fred'k  Hale, 
John  Burt, 
Thos.  Howitt, 
Jas.  L.  Dick, 
H.  H.  Dow, 
Daniel  Fraser, 
Dr.  Jas.  Norval, 
Thos.  McRae, 
Jas.  Blane, 
Rob't  Donald, 

T.  C.  GOURLAY, 

John  White, 
Rob't  McNie, 
John  Fell, 
Wm.  H.  Morrison, 
W.  G.  Coutts, 
Wm.  B.  Robertson, 
John  W.  Sumner, 
John  Stewart, 
Rob't  Davidson, 
Jas.  Quee, 
Daniel  Dove, 
Rob't  Burnet, 
Wm.  Cleland, 
W.  W.  Wotherspoon, 
F.  G.  Fontaine. 


[The  names  of  upward  of  two  hundred  of  the  persons  pres- 
sent  at  the  Festival  are  given  in  the  foregoing  list.  About  fifty 
others  were  present,  hut  it  has  not  been  practicable  to  obtain 
their  names  in  season  for  this  publication.] 


The  press  of  the  city  was  represented  by  a  number  of  gen- 
tlemen as  reporters  for  the  Scottish  American  Journal^  Tiines, 
Tribune^  Herald,,  Exjwes^s,,  Sun,  and  other  papers,  who  occu- 
pied seats  at  the  central  table  near  the  Chairman. 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  47 


Of  the  dinner  it  need  only  be  said  that  it  was  served  in  the 
usual  excellent  style  of  the  Astor  House.  Every  delicacy  was 
supplied  in  profusion,  and  every  article  was  of  the  choicest 
quality.  The  tables  were  adorned  with  numerous  pieces  of 
ornamental  confectionary  and  pastry,  among  which  were  rep- 
resented :  Burns  and  Highland  Mary ;  Burns'  Monument;  The 
Return  of  the  Laborer ;  Tani  O'Shanter  and  the  Witches  ; 
"  Here  are  we  met,  three  merry  boys  ;"  Scotch  Pavilion  ;  Lyric 
Cottage  ;  Temple  of  Worth  ;  Highland  Tower ;  Alloway  Kirk  ; 
Burns'  Birthplace.  At  dinner  and  during  the  evening  appro- 
priate music  was  supplied  by  Robertson's  excellent  band  ;  and 
Mr.  Cleland  performed  a  number  of  national  airs  on  the 
Scottish  pipes. 


When  the  cloth  was  removed, 

Mr.  J.  Cunningham  said,  that  as  the  President  of  the  Club, 
he  had  the  honor  of  presenting  Mr.  William  Cullen  Bryant 
as  the  Honorary  Chairman,  and  Mr.  Edward  M.  Archibald  as 
the  Honorary  Yice-President  of  the  occasion.  He  said  the 
thanks  of  the  Club  were  due  to  those  gentlemen  for  the  cor- 
diality with  which  they  had  accepted  the  positions  which  had 
been  tendered  them  ;  also  to  the  press  of  the  city  and  country 
for  the  courtesy  displayed  in  giving  publicity  to  the  objects 
and  purposes  of  the  Club ;  and  to  Messrs.  G.  Swan  and  J. 
Horn,  jr.,  for  the  free  use  of  the  telegraph  lines  under  their 
control.  He  also  expressed  the  fraternal  feeling  of  the  Club 
with  all  other  associations  engaged  in  celebrating  the  occasion. 
After  adding  a  few  remarks  relative  to  the  business  of  the 
evening,  he  read  a  few  of  the  following  letters,  addressed  to 
Vair  Clirehugii,  Jr.,  Esq.,  Corresponding  Secretary  of  the 
Club,  which  were  received  with  hearty  applause. 


48  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 


L   E  T   T  E   R.   S 


FROM    WASHINGTON    IRVING. 

SuNNYSiDE,  Nov.  22d,  1858. 
Dear  Sir  : 

I  feel  properly  sensible  of  the  honor  done  me  by  the  Burns  Club  in  inviting 
me  to  the  dmner  with  which  they  propose  to  celebrate  the  Centennial  Anniversary 
of  tlie  birth  of  the  poet,  Robert  Burns ;  but  I  regret  to  say  that  the  state  of  my 
health  obliges  me  to  excuse  myself  from  accepting  any  invitation  of  the  kind. 

"With  great  respect, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

Washington  Irving. 


FROM   HON.  JAMES   BUCHANAN,  PRESIDENT   U.    S. 

Washington,  15  January,  1859. 
Dear  Sir  : 

I  have  received  your  kind  invitation,  on  behalf  of  "The  Burns  Club  of  the 
City  of  New  York,"  to  be  present  at  the  festival  dinner,  to  be  given  in  honor  of  the 
Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  poet's  birth.  I  should  esteem  it  a  great  pleasure 
as  well  as  a  high  privilege  to  be  with  you  on  this  occasion ;  but  my  public  duties 
here  render  it  impossible. 

Poor  Burns  1  I  have  always  deplored  his  hard  fate.  He  has  ever  been  a  favorite 
of  mine.  The  child  of  genius  and  of  misfortune,  he  is  read  every  where  and  by  all 
classes  throughout  the  ei  tent  of  our  country,  and  his  natural  pathos  has  reached 
all  hearts.  Yours  very  respectfully, 

James  Buchanan. 


from    rev.  JOHN    THOMSON. 

11  Varick  Place,  N.  Y.,  13th  Dec,  1858. 
Dear  Sir  : 

By  reason  of  family  affliction  I  am  prevented  taking  part  this  winter  in  any  pub- 
lic or  social  entertainment.  Had  it  been  otherwise  with  me  than  it  is,  I  would  have 
availed  myself  at  once  of  the  kind  invitation  of  the  Burns  Club,  that  I  might  have 
shown  my  appreciation  of  the  character  and  works  of  our  great  national,  but  greatly 
misunderstood  poet.  I  have  the  pleasure  to  be,  dear  Sirs, 

Very  truly  yours, 

John  Thomson. 


FROM    KEV.  HENKY  W 

BELLOWS. 

New  York,  Dec.  14, 

1858. 

Dear 

Sir 

I 

am 

much  honored  Vjy  the  invitation 

of  the  "  Burns  Club  of  the 

City  of 

Now 

York," 

to  its  dinner 

on  the  25th  January 

The  state  of  my  healtli  does  not       | 

allow 

mc 

to  make  positive 

engagements  so  far 

ahead  ;  yet  I  am  not  willin 

g  to  cut 

myself  off  from  the  pleasure  of  so  delightful  a  reunion.  If  you  will  allow  me  to 
come,  if  my  health  at  the  fiinc  permits,  1  shall  have  the  greatest  pleasure  in  accept- 
ing your  invitation.  I  will,  with  your  permission,  send  you  punitive  word,  as  the 
day  approaciies.  Very  respectfully  yours, 

Hexry  W.  Bellows. 


FROM    REV.    GEO.    W.  BETHUNE. 

Brooklyn,  Dec.  14,  1858. 
My  Dear  Sir  : 

I  sincerely  regret  that  my  engagements  will  not  permit  me  to  accept  the 
invitation  with  whicli  I  have  been  honored  by  the  Burns  Club  of  New  York,  to 
dine  with  them  on  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of  Burns'  birth.  As  a  Scotsman's 
bairn  and  an  ardent  student  of  Scotch  literature,  I  heartil}'  sympathise  with  your 
admiration  of  Scotland's  greatest  lyrical  poet,  and  it  would  be  a  delightful  privilege 
to  share  in  the  aspirations  and  entertainments  of  your  festival.  As  it  is,  I  must 
bear  the  deprivation  as  I  may.  With  many  thanks  for  your  kind  remembrance  of 
me  and  my  best  wishes  for  yourself  and  associates, 

I  am  very  respectfully. 

Your  obedient  servant, 
Geo.  W.  Bethune. 


from    rev.    E.    n.    CHAPIS. 

134  12th  Street,  Jan.  3d,  1859. 
Dear  Sir  : 

I  very  much  regret  that  an  engagement  out  of  town  prevents  my  acceptance 
of  your  invitation  to  the  dinner  in  honor  of  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of  the 
birth  of  Robert  Burns.  It  will  be  a  festival  at  which  I  should  be  proud  to  be 
present,  and  had  Burns  never  written  any  thing  but  ''A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that," 
I  would  clieerfuUy  go  miles  to  express  my  admiration  for  him,  and  my  love. 

1  am,  Sir, 

Very  respectfully  yours, 

E.  il.  Chapix. 


from  lord  xapier. 

H.  B.  M.  Legation-, 
Washington,  Nov.  20th,  1858. 
Sir: 

I  have  the  honor  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  letter  of  the  19lh  instant, 
conveying  to  me  an  invitation  to  attend  the  dinner  to  be  given  at  the  Astor  House 
in  honor  of  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  birth  of  the  poet  Robert  Burns,  on 
the  25th  of  .Tanuarj'  next. 

I  regret  that   my  engagements  at  Washington  will  not  permit  me  to  be  present 
on  the  occasion  referred  to.  I  am.  Sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

Napier. 
7 


from  hon.  edward  everett. 

Boston,  29  Nov.,  1858. 
Dear  Sir  : 

Your  favor  of  the  19th  reached  me,  a  day  or  two  since,  kindly  inviting  me 
to  attend  the  dinner  to  be  given  at  the  Astor  House  on  the  25th  of  January  next, 
in  honor  of  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  poet  Burns. 

I  am  greatly  indebted  to  you  for  the  honor  of  this  invitation.  Owing  to  a  condi- 
tional engagement  in  another  quarter,  the  fulfilment  of  which  depends  upon  circum- 
stances not  yet  decided,  it  is  not  in  my  power  at  present  to  return  a  positive 
answer. 

It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  be  present,  if  possible,  on  an  occasion  of  so 
much  interest.  I  remain,  dear  Su', 

Very  respectfully  yours, 

Edward  Everett. 


from   OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES. 

Boston,  Nov.  27th,  1858. 

Dear  Sir: 

I  regret  that  my  imperative  engagements  in  Boston  will  not  allow  me  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  being  present  at  the  Centennial  Anniversary  celebration  of  the 
birth  day  of  Robert  Burns,  by  the  Burns  Club  of  New  York. 

If  I  had  by  good  fortune  been  present  at  the  coming  anniversarj- — as  a  native  of 
the  sister  isle  might  be  excused  for  saying — and  had  been  unexpectedly  called 
upon  for  a  word  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  I  should,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
have  ventured  to  give  the  following : 

The  memory  of  the  monarch  minstrel  who  made  the  dialect  of  a  province  the 
language  of  the  universal  heart  throughout  a  mighty  empire,  and  the  realms 
which  its  arms  and  arts  have  colonized :  his  melodies  are  the  life-winged  thistle- 
down that  sows  the  emblem  of  Scottish  truth,  and  manhood,  and  sentiment,  as  far 
as  it  can  fly  upon  the  winds  of  Heaven  1  Yours  very  truly, 

0.  W.  Holmes. 


from    henry    W.  LONGFELLOW. 

Cambridge,  Dec.  1,  1858. 
Dear  Sir: 

I  have  had  the  honor  of  receiving  the  invitation  of  the  Burns  Club  to  attend 
their  dinner  on  the  25th  of  January. 

I  feel  much  gratified  by  this  attention,  and  regret  extremely  that  my  engagements 
will  not  permit  me  to  accept  it. 

Begging  you  to  make  my  best  acknowledgments  to  the  gentlemen  of  t  he  Club, 

1  remain,  dear  Sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

IIknry  W.  Longfellow. 


from   bayard   TAYLOR. 

Boston,  Dec.  17,  1858. 
Dear  Sir: 

1  have  delayed  answering  your  invitation,  hoping  that  it  might  be  pos- 
sible for  mo  to  be  with  you  on  the  evening  of  the  25th  of  January  next.  My 
engagements,  however,  oblige  irie  to  rclin<|uish  all  hope  of  it. 


THE   CENTENARY    FESTJVAI..  51 


I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  present  at  the  pubHe  welcome  priven  to  the  sons  of 
Burns  on  their  return  from  India,  on  the  banks  of  the  Dcxjn.  on  the  0th  of  Aufrust, 
1844,  and  the  venerable  face  of  the  poet's  sister  is  still  distinctly  impressed  on  my 
memory.  Reverencing  as  I  do,  the  nam(>,  the  genius,  and  the  manhood  of  Burns,  I 
should  rejoice  in  being  al>le  to  unite  witli  your  club  and  mj'  brother  autiiors  in 
doing  fitting  honor  to  his  memory.  If  1  can  possibly  find  time,  I  will  send  a  leaf 
for  tiie  garland  which  will  be  laid  upon  his  grave. 

Very  respectfully  yours, 

Bayard  Taylou. 


KKU.M    JOHN'   G.    SAXK. 

Burlington,  Vt.,  Dec.  10,  1858. 
DE.4.R  Sir  : 

Nothing  could  gratify  me  more  than  to  accept  your  invitation  to  attend 
the  dinner  to  be  given  at  the  Astor  House,  January  25th,  1859,  in  honor  of  the 
Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  birth-day  of  the  poet,  Robert  Burns;  yet  I  have 
little  hope  that  m\'  lecture-engagements  will  allow  me  to  be  present  on  that  occa- 
sion. I  beg  to  assure  you,  however,  that  in  the  spirit  of  j'our  festival  I  shall  be  of 
your  number,  as  a  cordial  and  devout  admirer  of  Robert  Burns — 

-that  mightiest  poet  of  the  heart, 


Whoui  nature  blessed  beyond  the  reach  oi  art ;" 

and  wlioni  all  true  men.  every  where,  love  and  praise.     Thanking  you  for  the  high 
honor  propo.sed  to  me  by  your  invitation,  I  am. 

Very  truly  yours, 

John  G.  Saxe. 


from  dion  nourcicaui.t. 

Willard's  Hotel, 
Washington,  D.  C,  4  Jan.,  1859. 
Dear  Sir  : 

I  regret  to  say  that  my  professional  engagements  will  most  probably  oblige 
me  to  be  absent  from  New  York  on  the  date  of  the  Centennial  Anniversary. 

Deeply  sympathising  with  your  object,  I  feel  that  I  have  lost  one  of  the  most 
pleasant  and  most  intellectual  of  all  the  associations  with  which  life  is  speckled — 
no  brighter  beacon  could  a  man  look  back  to  in  after  days  than  a  "  Night  wi' 
Burns." 

Should  I  be  able  to  escape,  I  will  promptly  appear. 

Yours  very  truly, 

Dion  Bourcicaclt. 


from  the  governor  of  the  state  of  new  y-ork. 
State  op  New  York. 

P^XECUTI VE    DKPART.M KNT. 

Albany.  Januarv,  1859. 
Sir: 

Your  kind  letter  of  the  Stli  inst.,  inviting  me  on  behalf  of  the  Bums  Club  of 
the  City  of  New  York,  to  be  present  at  the  festival  dinner  to  be  given  at  the  Astor 


House  on  the  25th  of  this  month,  in  honor  of  the  birth  of  the  poet,  Robert  Burns,  is 
before  me. 

I  need  not  say  to  you  that  it  -wonld  afford  me  great  pleasure  to  be  present  on  the 
occasion  yon  name,  but  my  official  duties  will  prevent  my  absence  from  Albany  at 
that  time,  when  not  only  the  members  of  your  club,  but  thousands  of  others  in 
Europe  and  America  will  celebrate  the  birth  of  the  people's  poet.  It  was  a  happy 
idea  that  both  continents  should  join  in  celebrating  the  birth  day  of  Robert  Burns, 
whose  simple  poems  awake  responsive  emotions  ahke  in  the  hearts  and  homes  of 
his  native  land,  in  the  cabins  of  the  pioneers  upon  our  western  prairies,  and  in  the 
huts  of  the  Australian  shepherds.  He  wins  alike  the  hearts  of  the  cultivated  and 
the  uncultivated,  and  his  fame  must  contiiaue  to  increase  while  tliat  of  others — more 
petted  during  their  lives — is  gradually  passing  away. 

Begging  you  to  present  to  the  Burns  Clulj  of  the  City  of  New  York  my  regrets 
that  I  cannot  be  with  them  in  person  at  their  festival,  and  my  wishes  for  their 
prosperity,  I  am  j'-ours, 

Very  respectfully, 

E.  D.  Morgan. 


PROM   HUGH    MAXWELL. 

New  York,  Dec.  3d,  1858. 
My  dear  Sir  : 

I  return  my  very  sincere  thanks  for  the  kind  invitation  to  participate  with 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Burns  Club  in  the  festival  proposed  in  honor  of  tlie  memory 
of  the  immortal  poet. 

Having  declined  for  several  years  to  attend  the  festivals  on  public  occasions,  I 
regret  it  will  not  be  in  my  power,  consistent  with  former  declinations,  to  be  present 
at  your  honored  festival. 

My  heart  warms  to  the  memory  of  Burns,  to  the  scenes  he  has  so  sweetly  sung, 
and  no  one  would  be  more  delighted  to  do  honor  to  his  memory. 

I  am  very  respectfully. 

Your  friend  and  obedient  servant, 

n.  Maxwell. 


from  joiix  l.  lewis,  grand  master,  etc. 

Office  of  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Grand  Lodge  of  Free  and  Accepted 
Masons  of  the  State  of  New  York. 

Penn  Yan,  New  York.  January  '20tli.  1859. 

Dear  Sir: 

Absence  from  home  has  prevented  an  earlier  response  to  your  kind  invi- 
tation extended  by  the  "Burns  Club,"  to  me  as  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Masonic 
Fraternity  in  this  State  to  attend  the  festival  dinner  to  be  given  on  Tuesday  next  in 
honor  of  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  l)irtU  of  Hubert  Burns. 

Most  gladly  would  I  be  present,  did  my  engagements  permit,  to  unite  in  doing 
honor  to  the  character  and  meinorj^  of  Burns  as  the  man,  the  poet,  and  the  Mason, 
and  to  testify  as  the  present  chief  representative  of  the  Craft  in  the  State  of  New 
York  our  high  appreciation  of  the  genius  whicli  has  shed  such  imdying  lustre 
ujK>n  our  simple  annals  as  a  brotherhood — for  lie  ivas  our  brother.  Of  all  the 
rev(;red  dead  who  wliile  living  have  been  enrolled  in  our  ranks  abroad,  liis  is  the 
liame  whicli  is  ever  present  as  a  vivid  and  glowing  reality.  Tlie  farewells  which  he 
sang  to  his  brethren  at  Tarbolton  with  such  affecting  pathos  still  touch  an  answer- 


TUE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  53 


inp:  eliord  iu  many  a  heart,  and  siill  tremble  upon  the  hps  of  the  thousands  of  his 
brethren  hi  aU  hinds.  Tliey  are  a  memento  of  their  pifted  author  wherever  his 
peeuhar  dialect  of  the  English  tongue  still  kindles  fond  memories;  or  the  "Sons  of 
Light"  are  assembled,  when  "that  hieroglyphic  light"  is  glowing;  and  while  they 
awaken  tender  emotions  in  others,  they  are  never  disconnected  from  the  remem- 
brance of  him.  who  lirst  breathed  their  beautiful  melodv.  And  yet  this  was  but 
otte  of  his  undying  strains  of  feeling,  and  of  Vieauty  ! 

The  object  of  tlie  "Burns  Club"  in  renewing  afresh  such  genial  memories  by  an 
observance  of  the  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  the  Ayrshire  bard  on  this  side  of  the 
ocean,  and  thus  fostering  the  links  which  connect  us  with  the  genius  of  the  mother- 
land, can  but  connnend  itself  to  the  cordial  sympathies  of  every  one  in  the  United 
States  who  is  an  admirer  of  true  poetic  feeling ;  and  it  was  titting  that  one  of  our 
most  cherished  poets  shoidd  have  been  selected  to  preside  at  such  a  festival. 

You  have  tlie  most  cordial  wishes  of  the  Masonic  Fraternity  that  it  may  be  a 
joyous  rennicm;  and  I  trust  that  the  Depulj'  Grand  Master,  John  W.  Simons,  Esq., 
of  New  York,  will  be  present  to  represent  them  and  me  upon  the  occasion.  Lest 
he  should  fail  to  do  so,  will  you  at  some  fitting  opportunity  be  pleased  to  oft'er  in 
my  behalf  this  sentiment ; 

liobert  Burns — As  a  man,  pure  gold  without  the  guinea  stamp;  as  a  poet,  ever 
sweet,  tender  and  truthful;  as  a  Mason,  fit  to  be  "oft  honored  with  supreme 
command."  I  have  the  honor  to  be. 

Very  respectfully  and  sincerely, 
Yours,  &c. 

JoHX  L.  Lewis,  Jr. 

Grand  Master. 


Invitations  to  attend  the  Festival  liad  also  been  accepted  by 
a  number  of  gentlemen  who  were  unable  to  be  present,  among 
whom  were  the  following:  Kev.  Dr.  S.  I.  Pkime;,  Henry  J. 
Raymond,  Louls  Gayloi^d  (^i.akk,  Geokgk  P.  Mokkis,  and  li.  S. 
Willis. 

Mr.  Pryant  tlieii  rose  to  address  the  company,  when  he  was 
greeted  with  a  storm  of  enthusiastic  applause,  that  lasted  for 
several  minutes. 

MK.    BKYAKt's     SPEECIL 

The  very  kind  manner,  my  friends,  in  which  you  have  re- 
ceived me,  encourages  me  to  think  that  you  will  not  be  unwill- 
ing to  listen  to  a  word  or  two,  introducing  the  toasts  of  the 
evening.  My  iirst  duty  is  to  thank  my  excellent  friends  of  the 
Burns  Club,  with  whom   I  do  not  now  meet  for  the  first  time, 


54  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


aud  whose  annual  festivities  are  among  the  pleasantest  I  ever 
attended,  for  the  honor  tliey  have  done  me  in  calling  me  to  the 
chair  1  occupy — an  honor  more  to  be  prized  on  account  of  the 
rare  occasion  on  which  it  is  bestowed.  An  honor  which  can 
be  conferred  but  once  in  a  century,  is  an  honor  indeed. 

This  evening,  the  memory  of  Burns  will  be  celebrated  as  it 
never  was  before.  His  fame,  from  the  time  when  he  first  ap- 
peared before  the  world  as  a  poet,  has  been  growing  and 
brightening,  as  the  morning  brightens  into  the  perfect  day. 
There  never  was  a  time  when  his  merits  were  so  freely  ac- 
knowledged as  now ;  when  the  common  consent  of  the  literary 
world  has  placed  him  so  high,  or  spoke  his  praises  with  so  little 
intermixture  of  disparagement ;  when  the  anniversary  of  his 
bii'th  could  have  awakened  so  general  and  fervent  an  enthusiasm. 

If  we  could  imagine  a  human  being  endowed  with  the  power 
of  making  himself,  through  the  medium  of  his  senses,  a  witness 
of  whatever  is  passing  on  the  face  of  the  globe,  what  a  series  of 
festivities,  what  successive  manifestations  of  the  love  and  admi- 
ration which  all  who  speak  our  language  bear  to  the  great 
Scottish  poet,  would  present  themselves  to  his  observation, 
accompanying  the  shadow  of  this  niglit  in  its  circuit  round  the 
earth !  Some  twelve  hours  before  this  time  he  would  have 
heard  the  praises  of  Burns  recited,  and  the  songs  of  Burns 
sung,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges — the  music  flowing  out  at 
the  open  windows  on  the  soft  evening  air  of  that  region,  and 
mingling  with  the  murmurs  of  the  sacred  river.  A  little  later, 
lie  miglit  have  heard  the  same  sounds  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Euphrates ;  later  still,  from  tlie  southern  extremity  of  Africa, 
under  constellations  strange  to  our  eyes — the  stars  of  the 
southern  hemisphere — and  almost  at  the  same  moment  from 
the  rocky  shores  of  the  Ionian  Isles.  Next  they  would  have 
been  heard  from  the  orange  groves  of  Malta,  and  from  the 


THE   CENTENAKY   FESTIVAL.  55 


■winter  colony  of  English  and  Americans  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tiber,  Then,  in  its  turn,  the  Seine  takes  up  the  strain  ;  and 
"vvluit  a  cliorus  rises  from  tlic  I>ritisli  Isles — from  every  ocean- 
mart,  and  river,  and  mountain-side,  witli  a  (h'stant  res})onse 
from  the  rock  of  Gibraltar !  Last,  in  the  Old  World,  on  its 
westernmost  verge,  the  observer  whom  I  have  imagined,  would 
have  heard  the  voice  of  song  and  of  gladness  from  the  coasts 
of  Liberia  and  Sierra  Leone,  among  a  race  constitutionally  and 
passionately  fond  of  music,  and  to  which  we  have  given  our 
language  and  literature. 

Li  the  iS'ew  World,  frozen  Newfoundland  has  already  led  in 
the  festival  of  this  night ;  and  next,  those  who  dwell  where  the 
St.  Lawrence  holds  an  icy  mirror  to  the  stars ;  thence  it  has 
passed  to  the  hills  and  valleys  of  New  England;  and  it  is  now 
our  turn  on  the  lordly  Hudson.  The  Schuylkill  will  follow, 
the  Potomac,  the  rivers  of  the  Carolinas  ;  the  majestic  St. 
John's,  drawing  his  dark,  deep  waters  from  the  Everglades ; 
the  borders  of  our  mighty  lakes,  the  beautiful  Ohio,  the  Great 
Mississip])!,  with  its  fountains  gushing  under  fields  of  snow,  and 
its  mouth  among  flowers  that  fear  not  the  frost.  Then  will  our 
festival,  in  its  westward  course,  cross  the  Kocky  Mountains, 
and  gather  in  joyous  assemblies  those  who  pasture  their  herds 
on  the  Columbia,  and  those  who  dig  for  gold  on  the  Sacra- 
mento. 

By  a  still  longer  interval,  it  will  pass  to  Australia,  lying  in  her 
distant  solitude  of  waters,  and  now  glowing  with  the  heats  of  mid- 
summer, where  I  fear  the  zealous  countrymen  of  Burns  will  find 
the  short  night  of  the  season  too  short  for  their  festivities.  And 
thus  will  this  commemoration  pursue  the  sunset  round  the  globe, 
and  follow  the  journey  of  the  evening  star  till  the  gentle  planet 
shines  on  the  waters  of  China. 

Well  has  our  great  poet  deserved  this  universal  commemo- 


56  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


ration — for  who  has  written  like  him?  What  poem  descrip- 
tive of  rural  manners  and  virtues,  rural  life  in  its  simplicity 
and  dignity — yet  witliout  a  single  false  outline  or  touch  of 
false  coloring — clings  to  our  memories  and  lives  in  our  bo- 
soms like  his  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  f  What  humorous 
narrative  in  verse  can  be  compared  with  his  "Tam  O'Slian- 
ter?"  From  the  fall  of  Adam  to  his  time,  I  believe,  there 
w^as  nothing  written  in  the  vein  of  his  "  Mountain  Daisy ;" 
others  have  caught  his  spirit  from  that  poem,  but  who  among 
them  all  has  excelled  him?  Of  all  the  convivial  songs  I  have 
ever  seen  in  any  language,  there  is  none  so  overflowing  with 
the  spirit  of  conviviality,  so  joyous,  so  contagious  as  his  song 
of  "Willie  brewed  a  peck  o'  maut."  What  love-songs  are 
sweeter  and  tenderer  than  those  of  Burns?  What  song  ad- 
dresses itself  so  movingly  to  our  love  of  old  friends  and  our 
pleasant  recollections  of  old  days  as  his  "Auld  Lang  Syne," 
or  to  the  domestic  alfections  so  powerfully  as  his  "  John  An- 
derson ?" 

You  heard  yesterday,  my  friends,  and  will  hear  again  to- 
night, better  things  said  of  the  genius  of  Burns  than  I  can  say. 
That  will  be  your  gain  and  mine.  But  there  is  one  observa- 
tion which,  if  I  have  not  already  tried  your  patience  too  far, 
I  would  ask  your  leave  to  make.  If  Burns  was  thus  great 
among  poets,  it  was  not  because  he  stood  higher  than  they 
by  any  pre-eminence  of  a  creative  and  fertile  imagination. 
Original,  affluent,  and  active  his  imagination  certainly  was, 
and  it  was  always  kept  under  the  guidance  of  a  masculine 
and  vigorous  understanding ;  but  it  is  the  feeling  wdiicli  lives 
in  his  poems  that  gives  them  their  supreme  mastery  over  the 
minds  of  men. 

Burns  was  thus  great  because,  whatever  may  have  been  the 
errors  of  his  after-life,   when  he  came  from  the   hand   that 


THE   CENTKXAKV    FES'llVAL.  57 

formed  him — 1  say  it  with  the  profoundest  reverence — God 
breathed  into  him  in  larger  measure  than  into  otlier  men,  the 
spirit  of  that  h;>\'e  which  constitutes  his  own  essence,  and  made 
him  more  than  other  men — a  living  soul.  Burns  was  great 
by  the  greatness  of  his  sympatliies — sympatliies  acute  and  del- 
icate, yet  large,  comprehensive,  boundless.  They  were  warm- 
est and  strongest  toward  those  of  his  own  kind,  yet  they 
overflowed  npon  all  sentient  beings — upon  the  animals  in  his 
stall,  upon  the  "wee,  sleekit,  cowerin',  timorous  beastie"  dis- 
lodged from  her  autumnal  covert;  upon  the  hare  wounded  by 
the  sportsman;  upon  the  very  field  flower  overturned  by  his 
share  and  crushed  among  the  stubble.  And  in  all  this  we  feel 
that  there  is  nothino;  strained  or  exajjo-erated,  nothin<i:  afi'ected 
or  put  on,  nothing  childish  or  silly,  but  that  all  is  true,  gen- 
uine, healthy,  maid}-,  noble;  we  honor,  we  venerate  the  poet 
while  we  read ;  we  take  the  expression  of  these  sympathies  to 
our  hearts,  and  fold  it  in  our  memory  forever. 

And  now,  having  said  all  I  purposed  to  say — to  your  weari- 
ness, I  fear — I  proceed  to  give  out  the  first  regular  toast,  a 
toast  in  which  if  you  do  not  heartily  join,  I  shall  wonder  why 
you  are  here. 

When  the  applause  elicited  by  Mr.  Bryant's  remarks  had 
subsided,  he  announced  the  first  i-egnlm-  toast : 

The  Day  u-e  Celebrate — A  day  "  wliicli  makos  the  whole  world  kin" — 
uniting  by  sympathetic  emotion  men  of  ;ill  drgroes,  in  every  land,  in 
honoring  the  memory  and  the  genius  of  Kol)ert  IJurns — one  of  "the 
few,  the  immortal   names  that  were  not  Itoni  to  die.'' 

Music  Tjy  the  Band — "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 


58  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBEATION. 


SPEECH    OF    JAMES    T.    BRADY. 

Mr.  Brady  rose  to  respond  amid  enthusiastic  clieering,  and 
spoke  as  follows : 

Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen  : — In  a  land  -svliich,  at 
the  decease  of  Burns,  was  comparatively  a  wdlderness — in  a 
nation  then  an  infant — we  meet  this  night  to  commemorate  his 
greatness,  and  render  homage  to  his  memory.  The  natives  of 
many  climes  surround  this  festal  board.  Here  and  now 
national  and  individual  antipathies  are  banished,  that  we  may 
vie  with  each  other  in  honor  of  a  genius  which  has  alike 
delighted  and  illumined  the  human  race.  We  celebrate  a  day 
not  memorable  for  the  progress  or  prowess  of  physical  force — 
not  encrimsoned  on  the  historic  page  by  records  of  blood — 
not  made  stately  by  the  advent  or  triumph  of  boasted  lineage 
— nor  associated  with  the  insignia  or  trappings  of  worldly 
pomp  or  power.  We  are  at  the  altar  of  Poetry — we  stand 
beside  one  of  what  Halleck  calls 

"Shrines,  to  no  creed  nor  code  confined, 
The  Delphian  Vales — the  Palestines — 
The  Meccas  of  the  mind." 

The  cheerful  liquids  which  furnish  our  inspiration  may  well  be 

employed  on  such  an  occasion.     The  great  poet  we  are  here  to 

honor  has  said, 

"When  necburs  anger  at  a  plea. 
An'  just  as  wud  as  wud  can  be, 
How  easy  can  tlio  barley  bree 

Cement  the  quarrel ! 
It's  aye  the  cheaitest  lawyer's  fee, 
To  tasche  the  barrel." 

Concurring  with  you  in  this  sentiment,  and  thanking  your 
Committee  for  enabling  me  to  meet  the  sons  of  Scotia,  I  shall 


THE    CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  69 

say  a  few  words  of  him  whose  immortal  lines  have  given  glory 
to  the  name  and  history  of  his  native  land.  A  fine  writer  has 
remarked  that,  although  genius  is  tlie  heir  of  fame,  tlie  loss  of 
life  is  the  condition  on  which  the  bright  reversion  must  be 
earned — that  fame  is  the  recompense,  not  of  the  living,  but 
of  the  dead — its  temple  standing  over  the  grave,  and  the  fiame 
(4'  its  altar  kindled  from  the  ashes  of  the  great.  Ilazlitt  tells 
ns  that  fame  is  "  the  spirit  of  a  man  surviving  himself,"  and 
describes  it,  further,  as  "  the  sound  which  the  stream  of  high 
thoughts  carries  down  to  future  ages,  making,  as  it  flows,  deep, 
distant  murmuring,  evermore,  like  the  waters  of  the  mighty 
ocean."  Such  fame  attends  the  career  of  him  whom  genius 
illumines.  That  divine  principle,  moving  over  the  earth,  often 
sends  its  fitful  but  brilh'ant  gleam  to  establish  a  holy  and  im- 
mortal tem})le,  where  the  humble  object  of  its  lustre  seemed 
destined  for  perpetual  obscurity.  It  turns  aside  capriciously 
from  the  proud  turrets  and  gorgeous  display  of  wealth  and 
station,  to  consecrate  forever  a  lowly  cot  in  Stratford-on-Avon, 
or  by  the  banks  of  bonnie  Doon.  The  achievements  and  the 
distinction  of  the  mightiest  rulers  pale  in  their  lustre  when 
compared  with  the  intellectual  radiations  of  a  kShakspeare  or 
a  Burns.  Think  of  the  poor  home  where,  one  hundred  years 
ago,  Burns  was  born — tliat  home  which,  within  the  first  week 
of  his  existence,  gave  way  before  the  pitiless  storm,  as  if  the 
very  elements  were  resolved  that  its  narrow  limits  should  not 
contain  the  infant  form  of  him  whose  fame  was  destined  to  fill 
a  woild.  As  Carlyle  says,  "There  arose,  among  those  second- 
hand acting  figures — on'mies  for  most  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century — once  more  a  giant  original  man ;  one  of  those  men 
who  reach  down  to  perennial  deeps,  who  take  rank  with  the 
heroic  among  men  ;  and  he  was  born  in  a  poor  Ayrshire  hut." 
Worthy  tribute  from  one  great  Scotsman  to  another.     We  find 


60  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


this  humble  boy  intent  upon  tlie  life  of  Hannibal,  and  the 
history  of  Sir  William  Wallace,  tlie  books  which,  he  tells  us, 
most  cai3tivated  his  youthful  mind.  We  see  him  walk  many 
miles  to  the  Leglin  Ward,  the  scene  of  Wallace's  rest,  "  with 
as  much  devout  enthusiasm  as  ever  pilgrim  did  to  the  Loretto." 
The  poor  peasant  had  even  then  within  him  the  feeble  but 
struggling  hope  that  his  own  achievements  might  one  day 
make  his  own  tomb  the  object  of  pilgrim  devotion.  Already 
he  murmured  within  himself  what  afterward  he  pronounced, 
as  follows  : 

"That  I,  for  poor  aukl  Scotland's  sake, 
Some  useful  plan,  or  Beuk  could  make, 
Or  sing  a  song  at  least." 

The  ambition  which  prompted  this  aspiration  enriched  the 
world  with  the  spirit-stirring  lyric,  "  Scots  wdia  hae  w^i  AVallace 
bled,"  and  that  genial  greeting,  "Aukl  Lang  Syne."  We 
trace  our  hero  to  the  early  intellectual  guidance  of  an  old 
woman,  of  whom  he  says,  "  She  had,  I  suppose,  the  largest 
collection  in  the  country  of  tales  and  songs,  concerning  devils, 
ghosts,  fairies,  brownies,  witches,  w^arlocks,  spunkies,  kelpies, 
elf-candles,  dead-lights,  wraiths,  apparitions,  cantrips,  giants, 
enchanted  towers,  dragons,  and  other  trumpery."  Little  did 
the  gude  auld  wife  imagine  that  she  was  furnishing  her  young 
pupil  with  the  material  for  "  Halloween"  and  "Tam  O'Shanter" 
—to  say  nothing  of  "Souter  Johnnie"  and  the  "Devil  and 
Doctor  Hornbook."  The  great  power  of  his  mind  was  already 
fashioning  into  shapes  of  poetic  beauty  and  interest  the  con- 
fused material  of  the  dame's  rude  teaching.  Images  destined 
to  be  eternized  were  already  fixing  themselves  on  the  young 
poet's  eye,  of  which  we  may  indeed  say,  that  it  was  even  tlien 
"in  a  tine  phrenzy  rolling"— that  large,  dark  eye,  in  which 
Prof.  Walker  said    "  the   most   striking   index  of   his   genius 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  61 

resided,"  and  to  which  iSir  W^iilter  Scott  alludes  thus:  "  I  never 
saw  sucli  another  eye  in  a  human  head,  though  I  have  seen  the 
most  distinguished  men  of  my  time.''  It  was  a  mischievous 
eye,  as  site  might  have  told  us,  whom  the  poet  at  the  age  of 
sixteen — when  his  thoughts  first  chrystalized  in  verse — called 
"  a  bonnie,  sweet,  sonsie  lass" — the  eye  that  admitted  from  the 
briglit  orbs  of  Mary  Campbell  the  influences  which,  when  God 
had  called  lior  from  earth,  made  her  seem  to  him  as  the  lines 
to  "  Highland  Mary"  make  her  appear  to  ns.  That  an  ardent 
and  too  general  passion  for  women  stirred  in  his  heart,  and 
marred,  to  some  degree,  the  jtrosperity  of  his  life,  was  known 
to  none  better  than  himself,  as  we  may  infer  from  the  lines 
suggesting  a  Poet's  e]nta})h,  in  which  he  says : 


"The  poor  inliabitant  bolo^v 
Was  quick  to  learn,  and  wise  to  know, 
And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

And  softer  flame ; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  stained  his  name." 


AVe  follow,  with  profound  interest,  the  career  of  this  earnest, 
ambitious,  proud  young  bard,  who  looked  without  favor  upon 
the  rank  which  was  but  "the  guinea-stamp,"  feeling  all  the 
while  "  the  man's  the  gowd."  We  hear  him,  in  allusion  to  the 
greater  progress  and  success  of  his  compeers  and  school-fellows, 
exclaim,  as  he  referred  to  their  advance:  "I  was  standing  idle 
in  the  market-place,  or  oidy  left  the  chase  of  the  butterfly  from 
flower  to  flower  to  hunt  fancy  from  whim  to  whim."  There  he 
stood,  somewhat  aloof  from  the  world,  acting  on  what  Dr. 
Johnson  called  his  "  defensive  pride."  But  the  world  had  an 
ear  and  heart  open  to  notes  attuned  in  the  deep  midodies  of 
nature.  And  when  the  images  of  truth  Avere  painted  by  him 
in  the  language  of  truth — when  he  re-produced  the  sentiments, 


62  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


passions  and  feelings  of  our  nature — lie  "  attained  his  pinnacle 
by  one  gigantic  bound."  Even  at  the  moment  when  he  con- 
templated becoming  an  exile  from  his  native  land,  his  poems 
commanded  the  universal  admiration  of  his  countrymen.  The 
learned  professor  and  the  humble  ostler  alike  delighted  in  his 
lines,  and  gloried  in  his  triumph.  From  the  first  avails  of  his 
success,  he  erected  a  tomb  over  the  neglected  remains  of  his 
brother-poet,  Ferguson.  How  eventful,  checkered,  imprudent, 
and  yet  brilliant,  his  career,  up  to  the  time,  in  1796,  when  we 
find  him  in  "  sickness,  sorrow,  and  debt,"  at  Dumfries,  under- 
going his  last  illness,  not,  as  we  are  told,  "with  the  ostentation 
of  philosophy,  but  with  firmness  as  well  as  feeling;"  main- 
taining, too,  the  undying  capacity  for  humor,  which  developed 
itself  even  at  that  solemn  period,  when,  thinking  of  the  Dum- 
fries YoluDteers,  to  which  corps  he  belonged,  he  remarked  to  a 
friend :  "  John,  don't  let  that  awkward  squad  fire  over  me." 
We  are  told  that,  while  he  was  dying,  his  home  was  "like  a 
besieged  place."  The  interest  in  his  fate  was  intense.  He 
died.  The  conqueror  of  hearts  died.  And  in  what  state  was 
liis  cold  form  exhibited?  "He  lay,"  says  Allan  Cunningham, 
"in  a  plain  and  unadorned  cofiin,  witli  a  linen  sheet  drawn 
over  his  face,  and,  on  the  bed  and  around  the  body,  herbs  and 
flowers  were  thickly  strewn,  according  to  the  usage  of  the 
country.  He  was  wasted  somewhat  by  long  illness  ;  but  death 
had  not  increased  the  swarthy  hue  of  his  face,  which  was  un- 
commonly dark  and  deeply  marked — his  broad  and  open  brow 
was  ])ale  and  serene,  and  around  it  his  sable  hair  lay  in  masses, 
slightly  touched  with  gray.  The  room  where  he  lay  was  plain 
and  neat,  and  the  simplicity  of  the  poet's  humble  dwelling 
pressed  the  presence  of  death  more  closely  on  the  heart  than  if 
his  bier  had  been  embellished  by  vanity,  and  covered  with  the 
blazonry  of  high  ancestry  and  rank."     Tliousands  of  his  coun- 


THE    CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  63 


trymen  flocked  to  his  funeral,  and  he  was  deposited  in  an 
humble  sepulture,  whence,  in  1815,  his  remains  were  trans- 
ferred to  a  mausoleum,  inscribed  with  an  epita])li  tar  more 
learned,  but  not  so  expressive  as  that  which  I  have  already 
recited.  The  struggle  of  this  man's  personal  life  was  a  severe 
one.  Poverty,  wounded  pride,  remorse,  all  pursued  him.  He 
was  indeed  of  that  class  mentioned  by  Shelley,  who  "learn  in 
suftering  what  they  teach  in  song."  Well  might  Mrs.  Hemans 
compare  the  struggles  of  such  a  poet,  who  sets  bright  gems 
upon  the  brow  of  humanity,  with  those  of  the  pearl  diver  : 


"  And  who  shall  think,  when  the  strain  is  sung 
Till  a  thousand  hearts  are  stirred, 
What  life-drops,  from  the  minstrel  wrung, 
Have  gushed  with  every  word? 


None!  None!  His  treasures  live,  like  thine, 
He  strives  and  dies,  like  thee — 

Thou  that  has  been  to  the  pearl's  dark  shrine. 
Thou  wrestler  of  the  sea." 


Not  quite  so  gloomy  or  sad  the  career  or  destiny  of  Burns. 
He  enjoyed  his  fame  even  while  he  lived,  and  died  with  a  full 
conviction  that  his  name  M'ould,  as  it  will,  be  cherished  while 
that  of  his  country  remained.  Like  the  Welsh  bards  of  old, 
he  stood,  as  tliey,  when  they  asseml)lod  "in  the  face  of  the  sun 
and  the  eye  of  light."  With  all  that  belongs  to  nature,  he  had 
real  sympathy,  and  for  all  his  sympathy  found  tiuthful  and 
eloquent  expression.  Tlie  mountain  dais}',  the  homeless  mouse, 
the  wounded  hare,  the  meanest  creature  of  earth,  could  excite 
his  feeling  and  awaken  his  genius.  AVhatever  were  his  faults, 
they  injured  himself  most.  To  those  who  think  of  these  1 
would  say,  in  his  admirable  verse: 


64  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 


"Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us  ; 
He  knows  each  chord,  its  various  tone — 

Each  spring,  its  various  bias. 
Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute. 

We  never  can  adjust  it; 
What's  done  we  partly  may  compute. 

But  know  not  what's  resisted." 


A  century  has  passed  since  liis  birth — a  busy  century,  full 
of  new  and  wondrous  achievements,  and  events.  It  has  no- 
ted many  changes,  important  in  themselves  and  their  conse- 
quences. What  had  been  deemed  imperishable  has  passed 
away ;  what  considered  famous,  become,  in  many  instances, 
unknown.  Iconoclasts,  innovaters,  reformers  are  busy  all  over 
the  world.  Even  Russia  is  breaking  the  chains  of  serfdom. 
What  some  men  call  unrest  is  agitating  the  planet  we  inhabit. 
But  the  light  and  the  power  of  true  and  beneficent  genius, 
such  as  instructs  and  pleases  man  in  his  peaceful  and  silent 
liours — these  still  abide.  The  lustre  of  Burns's  fame  shines 
unalterably,  even  like  that  of  the  stars.  Tacitus  and  Sallust 
are  renowned  as  historians ;  but  we  can  never  feel  certain  that 
they  were  not  more  loyal  to  their  patrons  than  to  veracity. 
]!S"ot  so  with  Burns.  The  poet  is  a  man  of  at  least  three  ex- 
istences;  one  is  a  tribute  to  duty,  another  to  society,  the  third 
to  his  inspiration.  Lockhart,  Wordsworth,  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
have  memorialized  Burns  in  the  Old  World.  American  poets 
have  rejoiced  to  do  him  justice.  One  of  these  presides  here 
to-night,  toward  whom,  as  a  poet,  I  may  not  say  what  the  fu- 
ture will  certainly  utter;  but  I  claim  the  privilege  of  repeat- 
ing some  lines  from  one  usually  denominated  the  "  Quaker 
Poet,"  whom  I  could  not  admire  if,  like  the  presiding  officer 
of  this  assemblage,  he  did  not  sympathize  with  human  free- 
dom in  all  its  forms  and  conditions.     John  G.  Whittier  has 


THE    CENTKNNIAL    FESTIVAL.  65 

adorned    his  own  character,   and    the  hero  of  tliis   liour,  l)y 
exchiiining  : 

"  Lot  those  who  never  erred,  forget 
His  worth  in  vain  hewailings  ; 
.Sweet  soul  of  song !   I  own  my  debt 
Uncancelled  by  his  failings. 


Lament,  wlio  will,  the  ril)uld  line 
Which  tells  his  lapse  from  duty — 

How  kissed  the  maddening  lips  of  wine, 
Or  wanton  ones  of  beauty  : 


"  But  think,  while  falls  that  shade  between 
The  erring  one  and  Heaven, 
That  he  who  loved  like  Magd.alen, 
Like  her  may  be  forgiven. 


"  Not  his  the  song  whose  thund'rous  chime 
Paternal  echoes  render — 
The  mournful  Tuscan's  haunted  rhyme, 
Or  Milton's  starry  splendor! 


"  But  who  his  human  heart  has  laid 
To  Nature's  bosom  nearer  ? 
Who  sweetened  toil  like  him,  or  paid 
T(»  love  a  tribute  dearer  ? 


"Through  all  his  tuneful  heart,  how  strong 
The  human  feeling  gush(>s! 
The  very  moonlight  of  his  song. 
Is  warm  with  smiles  and  l)hishes  ! 


"(live  lettered  ))omp  to  tooth  of  Tiuu', 
So  '  Bonnie  Doon'  itut  tarry  : 
Blot  out  the  Epic's  stately  rhyme — 
But  spare  his  '  Highland  Mary!'  " 

Mr.  Brady's  remarks  were  greeted  with  veliement  applause 

throughout ;   after  which  tlie  following  song,  written  for  the 

occasion,  was  sung  by  Mv.  William  Pakk  : 
9 


THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  BURNS. 


BY   CLEMENT   D.    NEWMAN. 


Scots,  where'er  your  homes  may  stand, 
Ne'er  forget  your  native  land  ; 
Meet  this  day  in  friendly  band — 
Drink  his  memory. 

He  who  lived  and  lovfid  and  sung, 
Scotia's  hills  and  glens  among : 
He  whose  harp,  so  true,  hath  rung 
For  humanity. 

Spread  the  board  with  highland  cheer, — 
Sing  the  lays  to  Scotland  dear, — 
Fill  the  glass  :  we're  brothers  here, — 
Drink  to  Robert  Burns. 

'Tis  the  day  that  marks  his  birth, 
Bard  of  Scotland's  heart  and  hearth  ; 
Meet  ye  then,  o'er  all  the  earth. 
As  this  day  returns. 

Here's  to  all  he  loved  so  well, 
Manhood's  truth  and  beauty's  spell. 
Fatherland,  its  hill  and  dell. 
Pledge  we  in  his  name. 

Here's  to  Burns  :  fill  high  !   till  high  ! 
Drink  till  every  glass  is  dry  : 
Memory's  tear  in  every  eye 
Keepeth  fresh  his  fame. 

Tlie  Honorary  Chairman  then  announced  the  second  regu- 
lar toast : 

The  Genius  of  Burns. — Risen  above  the  dust  and  clouds  of  earthly 
frailty  and  misfortune,  it  shines,  a  fixed  star  in  the  heavens,  and  sings 
as  it  shines,  to  cheer  the  heart  of  friendship  and  love,  mercy  and  truth, 
liberty  and  liumanity  ;  an  hundred  years  are  proof  that  its  light  belongs 


THE    CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  67 

not  only  to  his  own  day,  but  to  all  time ;  and  not  only  to  Scotland,  but  to 
mankind. 

^      Music — "  Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon.'' 

Rev.  Samuel  Osgood  rose  to  respond. 

SPKECII  OF  RKV.  MR.  OSGOOD. 

The  subject  given  nie  by  tliis  sentiment,  Mr.  President,  has 
one  fault,  as  uncommon  as  it  is  weighty.  It  is  the  fault  of 
being  too  good,  so  good  that  it  speaks  too  well  for  itself  to 
need  any  thing  to  be  said  for  it.  Surely  the  genius  of  Burns 
has  sung  itself  into  the  human  heart ;  and  if  any  man  questions 
its  quality,  the  best  answer  to  the  question  is  a  strain  of  the 
poet's  own  music — that  will  be  quite  sure  to  set  the  doubter 
liimself  singing  in  unison.  But  good  as  the  topic  is  of  itself, 
without  any  added  words,  I  am  in  for  a  speech  ;  and  my  great 
hope  is  that  the  man,  with  the  occasion,  may  give  a  little  in- 
spiration to  lips  not  claiming  the  "  faculty  divine,"  as  the 
touch  of  a  master  hand  gives  life  to  the  pipes  of  the  organ,  and 
wrings  melody  from  dull  lead  and  wood.  Upon  this  j^rinciple, 
it  may  not  be  presumptuous  in  me  to  speak  here  to-night ;  and 
if  your  presence,  honored  sir,  in  the  Chair,  might  call  foi' 
modest  silence  from  others  upon  that  gentle  art  poetic,  in 
which  you  are  our  master,  why  ma}''  not  this  fact  work  quite 
the  other  way,  and  lead  a  poor  proser  to  hope  that  he  may 
catch  a  little  of  your  tire  by  sitting  near  enough  to  the  Chair 
to  feel  the  electric  spark  from  that  direction.  Although 
woodeti  tables  may  not  venture,  as  they  are  said  to  do,  to 
move  and  talk  under  the  action  of  departed  spirits,  surely  our 
heads  must  be  worse  than  wooden  if  we  are  not  mediums  now, 
and  our  brains  are  not  entranced,  and  our  tongues  are  not 


68  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION, 

electrified  by  the  spell  of  this  hour,  when  the  voice  of  Biyant 
calls  on  us  to  commune  with  the  spirit  of  Burns. 

The  sentiment,  sir,  says  that  the  genius  of  Burns  belongs  not 
only  to  Scotland,  but  to  mankind.  "Whether  mankind  really 
owns  the  property  or  not,  it  is  very  clear  that  it  has  taken  pos- 
session, and  does  not  mean  to  let  go.  We  have  got  the  poet 
by  heart,  and  y^e  mean  to  keep  him  there.  If  Scotland  has 
him,  we  have  him,  too  ;  and  if  she  tries,  as  she  will  not  do,  to 
keep  him  to  hei'self,  she  cannot  show  lier  treasure  without 
renouncing  her  monopoly,  or  without  opening  her  coffer  to  the 
nations,  and  so  giving  to  every  one  that  hath  an  eye  or  an  ear, 
a  gift  in  its  own  nature  of  universal  meaning  and  worth,  those 
words,  winged  as  doves,  and  precious  as  "  apples  of  gold  in 
pictures  of  silver."  As  well  try  to  make  private  property  of  a 
star  in  heaven,  as  of  a  bright  genius ;  for  genius,  like  the  stars, 
belongs  to  every  eye  that  sees  it,  and  all  own  the  light  who 
walk  in  its  shining.  What  better  proves  that  this  bard  belongs 
to  us  all,  than  this  occasion  itself?  We  meet  here,  men  of 
every  trade,  profession,  country,  and  creed,  to  keep  this  festival 
of  a  ploughman's  birth ;  and  whilst  we  hold  our  genial  fellow- 
ship together,  we  catch  thrills  of  kindred  feeling  from  brethren 
in  all  the  great  American  cities,  whose  greetings  come  flashing 
along  the  electric  wires ;  and,  perhaps,  before  the  night  is 
through,  the  Atlantic  Cable  may  wake  up  at  the  thrill  of  so 
many  harp-strings — nay,  make  one  string  in  the  great  harpsi- 
chord of  the  nations.  The  silent  De  Sauty  may  bring  to  us, 
through  the  cold  bed  of  the  ocean,  some  pulses  of  the  heart  of 
old  Scotland,  that  shall  make  us,  here  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  brothers  all  with  the  poet's  own  countrymen,  now  met 
on  the  Frith  of  Forth,  by  the  waters  of  the  Tweed,  and  the 
banks  and  braes  of  boimie  Doon.  In  fact,  no  literary  festival 
that  ever  took  place  on  earth,  probably,  had  so  broad   an 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  69 

interest  as  this ;  and  over  the  whole  globe,  wherever  onr 
tongue  is  spoken,  or  P>ritish  or  American  institutions  are  known 
there  will  be  some  genial  souls  to  speak  tenderly  with  us  the 
great  minstrel's  name.  If  the  drum-beat  of  Britain  circles  the 
world  continually,  and  the  sunrise  in  every  longitude  is  saluted 
by  the  reveille  of  her  armies  and  fleets,  who  shall  tell  the 
circle  of  the  heart-beat  of  her  language — our  language,  as 
well  as  hers?  Wherever  that  great  heart  beats  this  night,  its 
blood  quickens  at  the  name  of  Robert  Burns.  The  drums  of 
the  two  great  empires  have  not  always,  as  now,  sounded  peace- 
ful notes  to  each  other ;  but  in  the  heart-beat  of  to-night  there 
is  no  jarring,  either  in  remembrance  or  anticipation. 

New  York,  surely,  has  rightly  her  part  in  this  great  festival ; 
and  no  where  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  has  Scotland  so  many 
sons  and  friends  as  here.  The  poet  himself  once  thought  of 
this  city,  and  in  his  lines,  "  When  Guilford  good  our  pilot 
stood,"  gives  a  hint  of  our  present  occupation  : 

Poor  Tammy  Gage,  within  a  cage, 

Was  kept  at  lloston  lia',  man, 
Till  Willie  Howe  took  o'er  the  knowe 

To  Phihidi'lphia,  man  ; 
Wi'  sword  and  gun  he  thought  a  sin, 

Guid  Christian  blood  to  draw,  man  ; 
But  at  New  York,  wi'  knife  and  fork, 

Sirloin  he  hacked  sma',  man. 

]3ut,  Mr.  President,  1  must  not  slight  my  mission,  nor  fail  to 
say  something  of  the  poet's  genius.  What  genius  is,  it  is  hard 
to  define ;  and  even  the  men  that  have  most  of  it  do  not 
always  seem  to  know  what  it  is.  A  Yankee  ought  to  be  good 
at  guessing ;  and,  as  a  full-blooded  one,  of  the  Bunker-Ilill 
breed,  I  will  venture  to  guess  that  genius  is  that  which  makes 
a  man  see  into  the  soul  of  things,  and  makes  others  see  into 
them.     There  is  genius  in  every  sphere  of  thuught  and  action. 


70  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

from  constructing  steam-engines  to  commanding  armies — from 
calculating  eclipses  to  composing  symphonies.  But,  whatever 
the  sphere,  we  expect  a  man  of  genius  to  see  into  the  matter  in 
question,  and  so  to  shape  the  matter  by  his  own  mind  that 
others  also  may  see  into  it.  Poetic  genius  is  that  which  en- 
ables the  possessor  to  see  feelingly  the  soul  of  things,  and  so 
to  make  them  over  in  thought  and  %vord  that  others,  too,  may 
see.  Thus  the  poet,  as  the  name  denotes,  is  a  "  maker" — a 
"seer,"  indeed,  but  also  a  "maker" — making  the  real  life  of 
things  to  be  visibly  seen  by  his  art.  A  true  poem  is  a  living 
work,  and  its  art  brings  out  the  life  of  the  indwelling  and 
overruling  spirit,  as  trees  and  ilowers  bring  out  the  life  of 
nature.  Such  genius,  of  course,  is  a  native  gift — born,  not 
made ;  to  be  nurtured,  indeed,  by  education,  but  created,  not 
by  man's  art,  but  by  God's  power.  It  is  at  once  a  sense  and 
a  force  ;  a  "  vision  and  a  faculty  divine  ;"  a  gift  of  seeing  and 
of  shaping ;  and,  like  all  senses  and  all  forces,  it  is  to  be  traced 
to  native  organization.  It  works  from  within  outward,  with 
spontaneous  life,  and,  unlike  mere  talent,  it  takes  its  possessor 
quite  as  much  by  surprise  as  it  does  the  world ;  so  that  its 
best  products  are  more  involuntary  births  than  labored  manu- 
factures ;  and  when  most  carefully  elaborated,  the  labor  is 
more  upon  the  dress  than  upon  the  body  of  the  creation.  In 
this  sense  Burns  was  a  genius ;  and  as  soon  as  he  could  see 
and  think  fur  himself,  he  felt  and  betrayed  the  secret  of  his 
gift.  It  mattered  little  what  he  looked  upon;  he  saw  the  soul 
in  it,  and  made  it  speak  its  soul  to  others  ;  and  under  his  eye, 
the  daisy  or  the  mouse  beneath  his  ploughshare  was  more 
eloquent  than  the  Alps  or  the  Oceans  are  to  men  of  common 
mould.  The  characteristics  of  his  genius  I  need  not  undertake 
to  describe  minutely,  after  such  masters  in  criticism  as  Carlyle 
and  Lockhart  have  gone  over  the  held.     Following  a  simpler 


THE   CENTENARY  FESTIVAL. 


philosophy  of  criticism  than  theirs,  let  us  say  that  Burns's 
genius  was  quite  as  remarkable  for  its  susceptibility  as  for  its 
power,  and  that  he  was  at  once  mastered  by  his  subject  and 
master  of  it.  His  sense  was  alike  genial  and  clear,  alive  to 
every  aspect  of  truth.  Ills  will  was  earnest  and  manly,  eager 
to  follow  every  hint  of  nature  and  humanity — determined  to 
speak  out  his  downright  convictions  in  his  words.  So  he  had 
both  kinds  of  genius — that  which  is  mastered  by  a  sul)ject,  or 
surrenders  itself  to  external  intluences,  and  also  that  which 
masters  a  subject  and  makes  it  speak  out  the  poet's  own  man- 
hood. 

In  this  he  is  more  of  a  poet  than  his  great  countryman  Scott, 
who  is  so  absorbed  by  his  theme  as  to  lose  his  own  personality, 
and  so  became  the  minstrel  of  the  old  ages  instead  of  the  hero 
of  the  new  age.  Burns  was  both  minstrel  and  hero ;  and  his 
best  poems,  while  they  may  rehearse  old  times,  are  shaping  the 
new  times,  and  not  only  singing  songs,  but  striking  blows  for 
the  days  of  libert}^  and  humanity  that  are  to  come.  It  is  this 
manly  earnestness,  together  with  his  tender  sensibility,  that 
makes  Burns  the  people's  poet ;  and  they  love  him,  not  only 
because  he  feels  for  their  sorrows  and  with  their  joys,  but 
because  he  believed  in  making  the  sorrows  less,  and  the  joys 
more.  With  all  his  frailties,  his  genius  was  heroic  as  it  was 
tender,  manly  as  it  was  womanly  ;  and  something  of  the  blood 
of  Bruce  and  AVallace,  that  he  celebrated  in  his  verse,  beat  in 
the  poet's  own  fiery  veins.  In  his  earnest  manhood,  and 
feminine  tenderness,  he  deserves  to  be  named  in  the  same 
breath  M-ith  his  brother  bard,  wdio  was  born  the  same  year 
with  himself — Friedrich  Schiller.  Heaven,  surely,  was  bounti- 
ful one  hundred  years  ago,  in  sending  to  the  banks  uf  tlie 
]Seckar  and  the  Ayr  two  such  souls  as  Schiller  and  Burns.  In 
both.  Poetry  gained   a  genius,  and    Liberty  a  prophet.     "SVe 


72  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION, 

speak  their  names  together  to-night ;  together  they  will  live  in 
the  ages,  and  sing  into  brotherhood  the  tongues  and  nations 
which  they  represent. 

Look  now  a  moment  at  the  fruits  of  his  genius,  and  consider 
their  form  and  their  substance.  The  form  of  a  man's  thought 
has  much  to  do  with  expressing  its  nature  and  shaping  its 
power.  With  Burns,  the  form  was  not  a  costume  put  upon  his 
thought,  but  a  life  outspoken.  He  spoke  as  he  was  moved, 
without  pedantry  or  affectation,  and  the  familiar  airs  and 
homely  language  of  his  people  won  new  melody  and  eloquence 
upon  his  lips.  He  did  not  study  versification  in  grammars 
and  rhetoric,  but  listened  to  the  airs  of  old  Scotland,  that 
seemed  part  of  the  breath  of  the  nation  ;  and  he  gave  back 
these  airs  enriched  with  his  own  precious  thought  and  senti- 
ment, as  some  spice-island  welcomes  the  rude  sea-breezes  to  its 
aromatic  groves,  and  wafts  them  away,  no  longer  common  air, 
but  fragrant  as  Araby  the  Blest.  He  did  not  hunt  the  dic- 
tionaries for  high-sounding  words,  nor  the  classics  for  stately 
sentences ;  but  spoke  his  mind  in  the  plain  language  of  his 
farming  neighbors,  and  found  that  common  speech  was  more 
full  of  vitality  and  beauty  than  any  scholastic  dialect,  even  as 
the  common  earth  yields  more  blossom  and  fruit  than  the 
pavements  of  polished  marble,  though  inlaid  with  mosaics. 
So  he  formed  his  matchless  style — or,  rather,  so  he  let  his  style 
grow — and  the  sincerity  and  force  of  his  genius  spoke  itself 
out  in  his  word. 

The  substance  of  his  w^orks  corresponds  with  the  form,  and 
is  to  be  found  in  every  line  that  comes  in  earnest  from  his  pen. 
He  every  where  shows  the  same  gentle,  brave  heart ;  the  same 
clear,  manly  sense  at  work  to  bring  us  nearer  to  nature  and  to 
man — sometimes  nearer  to  God.  How  marvelous  is  his  natur- 
alness !     I  refer  not  now  so  much  to  his  wonderful  naturalness 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL. 


in  language  as  in  liis  thought.  Tlie  ti'adition  is,  that  St.  Francis, 
the  begging  saint,  was  taught  by  a  miracle  the  language  of 
irrational  creatures,  and  could  converse  with  flowers  and  ani- 
mals. But  we  need  no  tradition  to  reveal  to  us  this  gift  in  our 
poet.  He  talks  to  nature  as  a  friend,  and  as  such  she  answers 
him  ;  and  river,  and  mountain,  flower,  bird,  and  beast,  that  to 
so  many  liave  a  dead  language,  or  a  (liiinb  cipher,  spoke  to  him 
their  mother  tongue.  His  favorite  flowers  chat  with  him  like 
children — the  daisy,  the  harebell,  and  the  sweet-briar — while 
the  Doon  and  A3'r,  in  the  swell  and  cadence  of  their  flowing 
waters,  sing  to  him  of  the  light  of  by-gone  days,  like  old 
friends;  and  the  Highland  liills  stand  up  before  him  like  min- 
istering priests  of  God,  lifting  up  to  heaven  the  solemn  litanies 
of  ages.  The  animals  talked  to  him  and  through  him  in  a  mar- 
velous way ;  and  what  he  has  said  of  tlie  mouse,  the  dogs,  the 
old  mare,  the  old  sheep,  the  wounded  hare,  brings  the  brute 
creatures  nearer  our  hearts,  and  preaches,  trumpet-tongued, 
that  neglected  part  of  the  Gospel — mercy  to  the  races  below  us. 
Remember  that  mercy.  Remember  here  to-night,  that  he  who 
pains,  without  reason,  any  dumb  creature,  is  no  brother  to 
Robert  Burns. 

And  what  aspect  of  humanity  has  not  been  illustrated  by  his 
pathos  or  humor,  his  keen  wit  or  stout  manhood  ?  Do  we  speak 
of  friendship  ? — read  the  Elegy  on  Glencairn,  or  sing  "  Auld 
Lang  Syne."  Is  love  the  theme  ? — without  referring  to  those 
passages  in  the  Poet's  life,  M-hen  he,  like  too  many  of  us,  was 
a  tinder  box  before  the  flashes  of  every  new  bright  eye,  and 
yielded  to  tlie  failing  which  since  father  Adam's  time  has  been 
somewhat  (chronic  with  tlie  whole  race — own  that  reverence  for 
woman  that  runs  through  all  his  best  romantic  songs,  and  rises 
into  religious  solemnity  in  his  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night."     No 

nobler  tribute  to  wedded  love  need  be  j)aid  tluin  in  the  good 
10 


74  BURNS    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 


old  song,  "  John  Anderson,"  which  sings,  in  its  homely  way, 
the  blessed  truth  tliat  home  happiness  should  brighten  with 
years,  and  they  whom  God  hath  joined  together  are  dearer  far 
as  time  purges  away  earthly  lusts,  and  transfigures  human 
affections  in  the  love  that  is  divine  and  has  promise  of  eternity. 
In  other  pieces,  as  in  that  to  "  Mary  in  Heaven,"  there  is  a 
devout  tenderness  that  mates  him  with  Dante,  the  great  father 
of  modern  literature,  who  found  heavenly  purity  in  a  gentle 
maiden's  eyes,  and  in  his  sadder  and  riper  years  was  led  in 
solemn  vision  by  her  seraphic  spirit  above  the   empyrean  to 
the  eternal  throne.     Who  shall   describe  his  service  to  patriot- 
ism, or  say  too  much  of  that  love  of  country  that  glows  in  his 
"  Farewell  to  Scotland"  and  his  "  Bruce's  Address  at  Bannock- 
burn?"     Where  Scotch  blood  beats,  those  words  of  Bruce  are 
a  livino-  power.     In  them  Burns  has  done  better  service  on  the 
field  than  in  the  "  awkward  squad  "  of  Dumfries  Yolunteers. 
In  those  words  he  fought  among  the  Scotch  Greys  at  AVaterloo, 
and  marched  to  the  relief  of  Lucknow.     The  pibroch,  sounding 
through  the  defiles  of  the  hills  of  India,  that  spoke  hope  and  life 
to  the  beleaguered  garrison,  in  its  wild  wailing  and  brave  cheer, 
bore  upon  its  breath  more  than  a  remembrance  of  the  pathos  and 
the  courage  of  the  Highlanders'  Master  Bard.     Nor  was  the 
great  sentiment  of  humanity  less  favored  by  his  muse.     His 
famous  song,  "  A  Man's  a  Man  for  a'  that,"  is  the  Declaration 
of  Independence  set  to  music,  and  is  this  night  sung  round  the 
world.     Some    there    may  be  who   question    his  claim   to  be 
thought  a  friend  to  humanity  in  its  spiritnal  aspects,  but  Avhich 
of  us  can,  in  justice,  deny  his  title  to  religious  sentiment,  or 
will  maintain   that,  in   his  best  hours,  he  was  a  stranger  to 
divine  faith?     AVill  not  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  plead  for 
piety  and  purity  ages  after  the  author's  personal  frailties  are 
forgotten  ?     And  what  youth  can  read  his  poetic  letter  of  1786 


THE   CENTENARY    FESTIVAL.  Y5 


to  a  young  friend,  and  not  call  the  bard  the  earnest  moralist 
as  well  as  the  genial  companion  ?  Such  sentences  as  these  are 
no  scoffer's  words : 


And,  again, 


"An  Atheist's  laugh  's  a  poor  exchange 
For  Deity  offended." 


"A  correspondence  fixed  wi'  Ileiiven, 
Is  sure  a  noble  anchor." 


Thus,  and  in  passages  without  number,  might  we  show  the 
real  humanity  of  our  poet  in  its  broad  and  vital  relations  with 
nature,  man,  and  God.  We  miglit  show  that,  however  limited 
in  the  quantity  of  his  works,  and  in  this  respect  inferior  to  the 
great  poets  before  his  day,  in  respect  to  tlie  quality  of  his 
genius  he  has  claims  to  be  named,  with  any  of  them.  What 
he  miglit  have  done  if  long  life,  better  discipline,  and  more 
congenial  circumstances  had  been  granted  him,  we  cannot  tell  ; 
but  sure  we  are  that,  in  the  great  characteristics  of  native 
genius,  what  he  did  places  him  among  the  great  poets  of 
humanity.  He  looked  upon  nature  with  Homer's  clear,  open 
eyes,  and  into  the  heart  of  man  with  Shakspeare's  divining 
sagacity.  Ke  shows  us  glimpses  of  Dante's  weird  diablerie, 
with  much  of  his  more  than  chivalrous  tenderness;  whilst  in 
the  power  of  transition  from  pathos  to  humor,  and  from  deep- 
est melancholy  to  gayest  joy,  the  author  of  "  Man  was  made 
to  mourn,"  and  the  "  Ode  to  Ruin,"  "  Tarn  O'Shanter,"  "  The 
Jolly  Beggars,"  and  "My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands,"  need  not 
ask  favor  from  the  greatest  admirers  of  the  author  of  "  L'Al- 
legro"  and  "  II  Penseroso."  This  high  estimate  of  the 
quality  of  his  genius  implies  no  fulsome  eulog}''  of  the  man, 
but  rather  deepens  our  regret  at  the  fatal  errors  that  brought 


76  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

him  to  a  premature  grave,  and  blasted  his  power  in  its 
meridian. 

Time,  however,  is  the  true  test  of  genius,  and  in  its  mighty 
crucible  purges  away  the  dross,  to  preserve  the  true  gold.  A 
century  is  time  enough  to  separate  whatever  is  merely  private 
or  individual  in  a  man,  from  what  is  universal  or  human. 
The  genius  of  Barns  is  now  put  to  this  test,  and  we  are  look- 
ing to  see  what  remains  of  him  now  that  his  private  fortunes 
are  not  our  concern,  but  we  treat  rather  his  place  in  the  world 
of  humanity.  AVhat  relates  merely  to  the  individual  as  such, 
or  merely  to  the  stomach  and  pockets,  does  not  belong  to  the 
race,  and,  unless  connected  with  higher  interests,  goes  into  the 
grave  with  the  dust  of  the  body.  Too  many  men,  according 
to  this  principle,  leave  nothing  behind  them,  and,  living  for 
themselves,  would  seem,  but  for  the  light  of  a  holy  faith, 
doomed  to  perish — mere  digesters  of  food  and  gatherers  of 
gold.  But  the  true  man  lives  in  things  universal ;  and  when 
he  dies,  the  undying  humanity  to  which  he  belongs  will  not 
let  him  drop  into  oblivion.  Thus  Burns  lives  in  that  humanity 
which  he  claimed  as  his  own,  and  quickened  and  exalted  by 
his  thought  and  word. 

His  genius  belongs  to  humanity,  and  without  the  aid  of  titled 
patrons  or  voting  senates  academical,  it  has  taken  its  place  in 
the  great  temple  of  letters  by  the  same  law  that  lifts  the  oak 
above  the  bramble,  and  moves  the  spheres,  each  in  its  orbit. 
There  he  is,  and  there  he  will  stay.  The  genius,  whose  fragile 
home,  one  hundred  years  ago,  when  he  was  a  few  days  old,  was 
blown  down  in  a  tempest,  now  dwells  among  the  Masters  of 
Song,  within  walls  of  remembrance  that  no  storm  can  shake, 
no  floods  M'ash  away. 

He  was  a  Providential  man,  and  had  a  mission,  especially  to 
his  own  age  as  well  as  to  all  time.     He  was  born,  and  lived  in 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  T7 


a  memorable  century — the  age  in  which  tlie  old  tyrannies  and 
the  new  liberties  struggled  together,  as  never  before  or  since. 
Two  years  before  he  was  born,  a  gifted  and  marvelous  man  in 
the  north  of  Europe,  alike  a  pliilosopher  and  a  devotee,  had  a 
vision  of  the  immediate  end  of  the  old  world,  and  the  forming 
of  the  new  age,  with  its  throne  of  judgment  and  signs  of  spir- 
itual power.  Whatever  we  may  think  of  his  dreams  or  marvels, 
Swedenborg  was  right  in  his  thought,  and  the  new  world  was 
surely  in  its  birth-throes.  The  life  of  the  common  people  was 
to  be  moved  as  never  before,  since  the  Christian  era  began ;  and 
soldiers,  statesmen,  scholars,  and  poets  were  now  to  have  new 
work  to  do,  and  new  topics  to  treat.  What  a  spell  there  is 
upon  our  memory  to-night,  as  we  listen  to  this  music  that  binds 
the  years  together,  and  brings  before  us,  as  in  one  great  drama, 
the  century  that  now  strikes  the  hour  upon  the  dial  of  ages, 
1759 — 1850.  Who  shall  describe,  or  even  comprehend,  the 
men  and  events  of  that  interval  ?  Yet  there  is  metliod  in  the 
madness,  even  of  revolutions;  and  the  facts  of  the  century  turn 
with  considerable  unity  upon  a  single  point — the  struggle  of 
popular  liberty  with  chartered  monopolies,  the  conflict  between 
freedom  and  tyranny.  From  the  struggle,  Providence  has  been 
leading  humanity  to  new  triuni})lis  in  spite  of  either  class  of 
destructives,  the  despots  and  the  anarchists.  Autocrats  and 
mobocrats  swarm  before  us  in  fearful  procession,  as  we  contem- 
plate that  time  of  conflicting  powers  and  opinions.  Xom*  that 
the  thick  of  the  battle  is  over,  the  issue  is  somewhat  clear  to 
us,  and  we  see,  on  the  one  side,  such  autocrats  as  the  Louises, 
Alexanders,  and  Napoleons,  with  their  priestly  advisers;  and 
on  the  other  side,  such  mobocrats  as  the  Robespierres  and 
Marats,  with  their  counsellors  more  steeped  in  Atheism  and 
Materialism  than  they.  Between  the  two  ranks  stand  the  cham- 
pions of  constitutional  liberty,  under  such  leaders  as  Chatham 


78  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 


and  Bnrke,  Washington  and  Franklin,  and  the  gi-eat  thinkers 
and  anthers  who  have  striven  for  a  social  order,  hnmane  and 
reverential.  Among  these  men  Robert  Bnrns  has  a  Providen- 
tial name  and  place,  and  he  is  one  of  the  bnilders  of  the  new 
civilization  of  freedom  and  hnmanity.  While  men  were  dis- 
puting whether  there  was  any  human  soul  and  human  right, 
and  Atheism  was  wrangling  with  ghostly  priestcraft,  and  meet- 
ing blind  credulity  with  as  blind  unbelief,  the  Scotch  plough- 
man came  into  tlie  field  of  debate  with  his  songs  of  liberty  and 
humanity,  and  tanght  the  people  by  heart  that  there  is  more 
mind  in  man  than  the  schools  teach  him,  and  a  worth,  too,  that 
kings  cannot  make  nor  mobs  unmake.  Though  not  a  theolo- 
gian, he  belongs  to  the  teachers  of  positive  faith  ;  and  as  his 
counti-yman,  Thomas  Reid,  by  his  Philosophy  of  Common 
Sense,  rebuked  the  prevailing  intellectual  scepticism  that  was 
making  men  into  materialists.  Burns  by  his  poetic  fire  did  the 
same  good  work  for  the  Anglo-Saxon  people,  and  set  the  phi- 
losopliy  of  common  sense  to  music.  He  is  one  of  the  great 
teachers  of  the  belief  now  so  vital  and  so  mighty  in  public 
.opinion — that  there  is  something  in  man  more  than  what 
schooling  puts  into  him,  and  that  the  greatest  of  all  wrongs  is 
to  crush  down  the  rights  and  instincts  of  a  human  soul. 

He  sang  this  principle  of  the  great  creed  of  humanity  to 
moody  multitudes  almost  ripe  for  bloodshed,  and  at  his  word 
they  yielded  their  madness  for  mercy,  as  Saul  of  old  was  re- 
freshed by  David's  harp,  and  was  well.  In  giving  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  the  love  of  liberty  without  anarchy,  and  bringing 
into  social  and  civil  life  a  brave  and  genial  sense  of  riglit, 
Robert  Burns  was  a  servant  of  Providence.  He  felt  within 
himself  the  life  of  the  new  humanity,  and  spoke  it  out  even 
more  deeply  ami  eloquently  than  he  knew.  The  world's  field 
was  ready  for  the  great  harvest ;  and  from  whose  lips  came  the 


'J'llE    CKNTENARY   FESTIVAL.  79 

cheering  notes  of  its  spring-time  more  than  from  that  peasant 
poet — that  spring-bird  of  the  better  year  of  promise  and  fruit? 
Now  that  tlie  great  problem  of  the  century  is,  in  a  measure, 
solved,  so  far  as  first  principles  are  concerned,  we  can  see  the 
poet's  Providential  work,  and  now  in  our  own  vision  of  liberty 
we  hear  that  ploughman's  voice  in  the  songs  of  liberty  that 
are  sounding  through  the  M'orld,  and  (piickening  anew  the 
numhood  that  kindled  at  Chathanrs  elo(|uence,  and  fought 
under  AV^ishington's  standard.  He  is  the  poet  of  common 
humanity.  His  notes  were,  indeed,  often  merry,  and  some- 
times trifling;  but  his  great  songs  are  marches,  not  dancing 
tunes,  and  by  their  cheering  music  our  humanity  has  marched 
on  more  stoutly  its  appointed  way.  Honor,  then,  to  the  genius 
of  Burns !  He  was  not  ashamed  of  us  in  our  common  nature 
with  all  its  homeliness  and  cai'e.  In  Heaven's  name  let  us  not 
be  ashamed  of  him.  Pity — much  pity  for  the  man — pity  for 
bim  who  pitied  every  creature,  from  the  little  mouse  to  the 
great  devil,  that  imp  of  darkness,  Auld  Nickie  Ben  himself! 
But  no  pity  for  his  genius,  so  imperial  as  to  denumd  our  hom- 
age, and  clothe  us  with  its  purple  and  gold  !  It  is  God's  gift 
to  us,  and  in  common  with  all  like  gifts  of  Providential  minds, 
it  proves  our  birth-right  to  a  domain  beyond  aught  that  we  can 
make  ourselves.  We  are  great,  brethic  n.  not  in  ourselves  alone, 
but  in  our  race — in  that  humanity  wliich  (lod  has  given,  and 
all  ages  are  enriching,  and  which  needs  heaven,  as  well  as 
earth,  to  hold  its  treasures.  Under  the  spell  of  this  great  name, 
acknowledge  to-night  the  common  bond  of  humanity  ;  and  as 
the  same  music  that  has  charmed  millions,  now  sweeps  through 
this  hall  with  its  pathos  and  joy,  let  it  touch  M-ithin  us  tlie 
chord  of  brotherhood,  leaving  no  human  soul  on  earth  oi-  hcaAcn 
out  of  the  circle  of  its  fellowship.  Let  its  nuitchless  humor 
charm  us  out  of  our  too  anxious  cares,  and   let  its  frequent 


80  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


sadness  soothe  rather  than  deepen  our  too  ready  dejection,  by- 
moving  us  to  cure  our  griefs  by  relieving  our  neighbor's  suffer- 
ings as  we  may.  Thank  God  for  the  joy  and  the  sorrow 
of  Burns'  song.  Its  joy  declares  that  Sovereign  Goodness  is 
over  us  still,  and  its  sorrow  speaks  not  only  of  his  own  strug- 
gles, but  of  that  still  sad  music  of  Humanity  which  tells  us,  if 
not  that  Paradise  is  lost,  at  least  it  is  not  yet  won,  and  we  have 
a  long  way  to  go,  and  a  hard  battle  to  light,  before  we  strike 
our  tents  and  ground  our  arms.  Gratefully  hear  our  poet's 
voice  in  the  great  company,  to  whose  fraternity  a  century  of 
years  now  seals  his  right,  and  let  his  voice  sound  with  theirs. 
All  our  great  poets  are  singing  for  us  still,  and  the  morning 
stars  shall  cease  their  song  before  those  eternal  melodies  are 
hushed. 

Mr.  President,  I  give  a  closing  sentiment : 

The  Poets  of  our  Humanity — Great  in  wliat  they  have  done — greater 
still  in  what  they  are  to  do  for  us.  They  not  only  charm  our  quiet  hours, 
but  nerve  us  to  work  and  to  wait  for  the  good  days  coming,  with  a  hand 
and  heart  of  welcome  to  every  friend  of  God  and  man  in  all  time. 

The  company  manifested  their  appreciation  of  the  power  and 
eloquence  of  Mr.  Osgood's  speecli  by  their  earnest  attention, 
broken  only  by  impulsive  bursts  of  applause,  and  he  took  his 
seat  amid  prolonged  and  enthusiastic  cheering. 

Mr.  George  Simpson  then  sang  "  Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can 
blaw,"  and  being  rapturously  encored,  gave  "  The  Jolly  Beg- 
gars," with  great  effect. 

Mr.  Edward  M.  Archibald,  the  Honorary  Vice-President, 
announced  the  tliird  regular  toast: 

Scotland — "  We  love  our  land  because  it  is  our  own. 
And  scorn  to  give  another  reason  why." 

Music — "  Here's  a  health,  bonnie  Scotland,  to  thee." 


THE   CEXTENARY    FESTIVAL.  SI 

Mr.  Charles  Gould  was  called  on  to  respond. 

MR.  Gould's  spekcu. 

Mit.  President  and  Gentlemen:  No  words  are  adequate  to 
tell  our  admiration  and  veneration  t'or  the  "land  of  the  moun- 
tain and  the  flood;"  the  land  of  chivalrie  honor  and  heroic 
courage  ;  a  resting-place  of  freedom  ;  a  home  and  a  birth- 
place of  virtue,  and  talents,  and  genius — virtue  witliont  a  stain, 
talents  unsurpassed  in  the  wide  range  of  history,  and  genius 
whose  centennial  we  this  night  celebrate. 

Countries  are  known  by  what  they  are,  and  by  what  they 
have  done.  What  Scotland  is,  and  what  she  has  done,  the 
world  knows  by  heart :  and  that  little  island  claims  as  her 
children  those  who  rank  with  the  greatest  and  best  of  mankind. 
The  mere  catalogue  is  far  too  long  for  mention  here.  The 
array  of  Scotland's  statesmen  and  heroes,  men  of  science  and 
martyrs,  authors  and  poets,  crowds  the  page  of  history. 
Woman  has  taken  a  proud  stand  there,  and  a  century  ago  the 
authoress  of  "Auld  Robin  Gray"  gave  new  sweetness  to  ballad 
literature. 

What  Scott  did  in  raising  the  standard  of  fiction — mingling 
instruction  and  lessons  of  virtue  with  a  natural  iiari-ative — 
Wilson,  his  great  contemporary,  did  for  periodical  literature. 
The  charming  flow  of  pathos  and  humor,  of  wit  and  descriptive 
power,  of  sarcasm  and  of  eloquence,  which  makes  the  Nodes 
AmbrosiancB  so  loved  and  honored,  has  made  the  sayings  of 
Christopher  North  "  familiar  in  our  mouths  as  household 
words,"  and  written  him  among  "'  the  few  immortal  names 
that  were  not  born  to  die." 

Great  in  her  heroes,  great  in   her  statesmen,  great   in  her 

authors,  greater  in  lier  great  poet.     Great  as  Scotland  is  in  all 
II 


82  BURNS    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 


these,  her  children,  she  is  greatest  in  the  stand  she  took  so  long 
ago,  and  has  since  maintained  so  nobly,  for  freedom  and  for 
truth.  Her  martjr-heroes  are  a  long  cloud  of  witnesses,  who 
accepted  death  rather  than  yield  their  high  and  stern  pi-inciples 
of  religious  freedom  and  religious  right ;  and  their  successors 
in  the  sacred  duties  of  piety  have  done  their  full  part  in  making 
Scotland  what  she  is. 

"  From  scenes  like  this  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs. 
Tiuit  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad." 

The  central  place  of  honor  among  Scotland's  noble  children 
we  this  night  give — we  always  give — to  Burns ;  the  genius, 
untaught  in  earthly  schools,  who  caught  his  inspiration  im- 
mediately from  the  Great  Creator,  and  scattered  the  heaven- 
born  gift  like  leaves  from  the  tree  of  life,  to  bless  his  fellow 
men. 

True  genius  is  an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  the  beautiful 
and  tlie  good.  Generation  after  generation  will  draw  from 
Scotland's  Great  Poet,  as  we  have  done,  ennobling  emotions 
and  great  thoughts,  and  still  there  remains  the  overflowing 
supply;  and  generations  unborn  will  come  to  the  same  glorious 
fountain,  and  drink,  and  bless  the  name  and  honor  the  memory 
of  Robert  Burns. 

"  Nothing  need  cover  his  high  fame  hut  heaven  : 
No  pyramids  set  off  his  memories, 
But  the  eternal  substance  of  his  greatness, 
To  which  I  leave  him  !" 

Gentlemen  of  the  Burns  Club:  It  is  a  pleasure  to  you  and  to 
me  to  greet,  on  this  proud  centennial,  the  two  great  poets  of 
America,  presiding  in  pleasant  fellowship  over  our  pleasant 
festival.  Bryant  and  llalleck  :  God  bless  you  both,  now  and 
ever !   and   when  3'our  centennial   shall  come,  the   lovers  of 


THE   CENTENARY    FESTIVAL.  83 


Nature's  Great  Poet  will  love  your  memories  and  embalm  vour 
names. 

Mr.  Andrew  S.  Eadik,  Jr.,  thou  sang  with  spirit  and  effect, 
the  soug,  "  Scotland,  1  love  thee." 

Mr.  Joseph  Laing,  the  First  Vice  President,  announced  the 
fourth  regular  toast,  introducing  it  with  a  few  appropriate  re- 
marks; speaking  of  America  as  the  land  most  loved  and 
honored  by  Scotchmen,  after  their  own. 

America — Whoro  the  dicjnity  of  sclf-jjjovorurnent  enndlilos  the  humblest 
citizen,  and  the  march  of  civilization  is  commensurate  with  the  extent  of 
territory  ;  while  she  studies  to  advance  the  one,  the  other  can  never  be 
retarded. 

The  toast  was  received  with  great  enthusiasm  and  all  the 
honors. 

Music. — "  Yankee  Doodle." 

Hon.  D.  F.  TiEMANN,  was  expected  to  reply  to  this  toast, 
but  having  been  compelled  to  retire  previous  to  its  announce- 
ment, 

Hon.  GuLTAN  C,  Yerplanck  responded.  After  appropriate 
reference  to  the  toast,  he  alluded  to  the  correspondence  between 
Burns  and  Col.  Ogden  De  Peyster,  whose  name  was  familiar 
to  the  speaker's  ears,  as  that  of  a  native  Xew  Yorker,  and  as 
the  first  Xew  Yorker  who  did  honor  to  the  genius  of  Burns. 
He  concluded  by  proposing  the  memory  of  Ogden  De  Peyster. 

Ifusic. — "  Star  Spangled  Baimer." 

The  Honorary  Chairman  then  proposed  the  fifth  toast : 

The  Queen  of  (Ircdt  Britatn  and  the  President  ef  the  United  States. 

The  announcement  was  received  Avith  peal  on  peal  of  enthu- 
siastic applause,  amid  which  the  band  struck  up  "  God  save 


84  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

the  Queen."  Mr.  Wm.  Kobertson  then  sang  the  anthem,  witli 
great  spirit,  the  whole  company  rising  and  joining  in  the  chorus. 
Mr.  Edward  M.  Archibald  being  called  on  to  respond,  said  : 
If  he  displayed  any  reluctance  in  responding  to  the  call  which 
had  just  been  made  upon  him,  it  was  because  he  yielded  to  it 
somewhat  in  derogation  of  a  well-known  rule  by  wliich  the 
Queen's  health  is  rarely  if  ever  responded  to.  Hers  was  a 
name  which  could  best  answer  for  itself  wherever  it  was  pro- 
nounced. This  was  perhaps  an  occasion  on  which  it  might  be 
fitting  to  make  an  exception.  But  indeed  they  had  put  upon 
him  a  hard  task  to  speak  in  praise  of  one  who  was  above  all 
praise ;  one  who  reigned  supreme  not  alone  over  the  liberties 
and  fortunes,  but  in  the  hearts  of  all  her  subjects,  and  whose 
name  Avas  hailed  with  acclamations  of  profoundest  respect 
wherever  it  was  pronounced  through  the  whole  world  ;  one 
who,  whether  as  a  Queen,  a  wife,  or  a  mother,  commanded  our 
highest  admiration — our  most  heartfelt  affection.  To  Scotch- 
men she  should  be  doubly  dear ;  for,  true  to  the  Scottish 
blood  in  her  veins,  see  how^  she  loves  yearly  to  revisit  her 
Highland  home — to  tread  the  heather — and  to  wander  by  the 
romantic  banks  of  the  Tay  and  the  Doon,  rendered  classic  by 
the  sweetest  of  Scotland's  poets.  See  how  she  delights  to 
clothe  herself  and  her  children  in  the  tasteful  hues  of  the 
Scottish  garb,  and  to  make  herself  familiar  with  the  homely 
joys  and  destiny  obscure  of  the  humblest  of  her  subjects.  This 
day,  which  was  also  the  amiiversary  to  her  Majesty  of  an 
interesting  domestic  incident,  would,  he  was  sure,  be  celebrated 
by  her  in  lionor  of  Scotland's  favorite  bard,  with  not  less  fervor 
than  by  the  veriest  Scot  in  her  wide-spread  dominions.  It  was 
pleasing  to  see  the  name  of  their  beloved  Queen  and  that  of 
the  Chief  Magistrate  of  this  great  country  thus  associated  on 
such  a  day  as  this,  when  the  heai'ts  of  the  people  of  the  two 


THE    CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  85 

countries  beat  in  liarniony,  and  wlien  thej  celebrated  in  unison 
a  poetic  fame  which  was  tlieii-  common  inheritance  and  their 
common  property.  What  could  he  more  do  than,  a.s  the 
unworthy  representative  of  her  Majesty  there  that  day,  to 
thank  them,  as  he  did,  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  for  the 
honor  with  which,  in  this  great  city  of  the  Western  World, 
where  she  claimed  no  allegiance,  they  had  received  as  they 
ever  received  the  name  of  the  Queen.  Though  he  had  no 
right  or  claim  to  speak  on  behalf  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States,  he  hoped  it  would  not  be  considered  presump- 
tuous in  him  to  thank  them  also  for  the  enthusiastic  manner  in 
which  they  had  received  the  name  of  their  worthy  and  able 
Chief  Magistrate. 

Mr.  Archibald  was  loudly  applauded   throughout,   and   re- 
sumed his  seat  amid  great  cheering. 

Music. — "  Hail  Columbia.'' 

Messrs.  Benj.  F.  Miller  and  Geo.  S.  Hartt  then  gave  the 
song  "  Huzza  for  Columbia,"  with  great  animation. 
The  Chairman  next  announced  the  sixth  toast : 


Kindred  Associations  throughout  the  World — May  they  preserve  the 
songs,  and  disseminate  the  sentiments  of  Burns,  "till  man  and  man,  the 
warld  o'er,  shall  brithers  be,  and  a'  tliat." 


[This  toast  had  been  dispatched  to  various  parts  of  the 
United  States  and  the  Canadas,  as  the  sentiment  of  the  Kew 
York  Burns  Club,  to  be  given  simultaneously  at  10  o'clock 
New  York  time,  and  had  been  read  out  of  its  order  for  that 
purpose  ;  but  it  is  deemed  proper  to  preserve  the  regular  order 
in  this  report.] 


86  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


The  toast  was  received  Mdtli  great  enthusiasm,  the  company 
rising  and  honoring  it  with  nine  cheers. 

Music. — "  O,  wat  ye  wha's  in  yon  toun." 
Mr.  Adam  JSTokrie  responded.     He  said : 

The  Society  over  which  I  have  the  honor  to  preside,  is 
no  doubt  included  in  the  hist  toast,  and  I  beg  leave  to 
return  most  cordial  thanks  for  the  compliment  to  ""Kindred 
Associations."  It  is  true  that  our  society  differs  from  yours 
in  some  important  respects,  having  different  objects  in  view, 
but  they  are  in  many  respects  kindred.  They  are  kindred  in 
blood,  most  of  the  members  of  both  being  of  Scottish  origin. 
Tliey  are  kindred  in  a  connnon  attachment  to  "the  land  of  the 
mountain  and  the  flood,"  and  above  all,  on  this  occasion,  they 
are  not  only  kindred  but  consentaneous  in  their  admiration  of 
the  illustrious  poet  we  are  now  assembled  to  honor — in  this 
sentiment  all  are  of  one  heart  and  one  mind — the  name  of 
Burns  awakens  in  all  our  hearts  the  same  emotions  of  pride 
and  admiration,  and  I  rejoice  in  the  privilege  your  kindness 
has  afforded  me  of  uniting  in  this  grand  celebration  in  honor 
of  Scotia's  greatest  Bard. 

I  well  know  from  youthful  and  later  experience,  that  there 
is  no  name  like  that  of  Burns  to  dissipate  the  Scotchman's 
native  reserve  and  waken  u])  the  fervid  enthusiasm  which 
underlies  the  Scottish  character.  It  cannot  be  otherwise,  for 
his  name  is  a  household  word  in  every  Scottish  home,  from 
the  theeket  cottage  to  the  stately  castle.  The  nursery  child 
listens  to  his  songs,  the  brown-faced  plowboy  sings  them  as 
he  treads  tlie  furrow,  the  pale  mechanic  mingles  them  with 
the  hum  of  his  daily  labor,  and  tliey  are  joyfully  welcomed 
in  the  halls  and  by  the  firesides  of  the  wealthy  and  the  culti- 


THE    CENTEXAKV    FESTIVAL.  87 

vated.  Such  is  tlie  ciidourinii-  influence  of  this  marvelous  son 
of  Genius  and  of  Scotland;  sucli  the  iuiin(»i-talitj  of  the  Ayr- 
shire Plowman. 

Is  it  not  a  wonderful  thing,  tliat  after  a  century  has  passed 
since  his  birth,  the  name  of  a  humble,  untaught  Ayrshire 
peasant,  born  to  no  inheritance  but  poverty,  doomed  to  hard 
labor  in  his  native  fields,  with  no  teacher  but  Nature,  and  no 
guide  but  that  which  the  glorious  soul  within  him  provided, 
should  be  a  spell  to  gather  such  an  assembly  as  this,  with  the 
chieftain  of  American  poets,  a  kindred  genius,  at  its  head  ? — 
and  not  oidy  here,  but  all  over  this  wide  continent,  and  in 
other  lands,  similar  gatherings  are  held,  to  pay  homage  to  our 
immortal  bard.  Little  did  Burns  think,  "  when  the  poetic 
genius  of  his  country  found  him,  and  threw  her  inspiring 
mantle  over  him,"  that  after  one  hundred  years  he  should  not 
yet  have  reached  the  meridian  of  his  fame,  and  that  not  only 
the  land  he  loved  so  well,  but  other  lands  and  other  races 
should  gather  in  crowds  to  do  lionor  to  his  name. 

I  wish,  Sir,  you  had  selected  from  among  the  distinguished 
gentlemen  around  me,  representing  other  kindred  associations, 
one  of  them,  to  reply  to  your  last  toast.  Any  of  them  would 
have  done  it  more  justice,  while  I  can  only  claim  an  equality 
with  them  in  admiration  of  Burns,  and  in  gratification  in 
being  permitted  to  enjoy  the  delight  of  this  festival.  In  con- 
cluding, Sir,  these  few  words  of  thanks,  I  venture  to  hope 
that  I  can  in  part  compensate  for  the  kindness  of  the  Burns 
Club,  by  exhibiting  for  the  examination  of  all  present,  a  verj'' 
interesting  relic  of  the  great  poet — namely,  a  lock  of  his  hair, 
gathered  by  reverent  hands  from  his  tomb  on  the  occasion  of 
its  being  o})ened  to  receive  the  remains  of  his  widow.  I  shall 
allow  it  to  tell  its  own  story,  merely  adding  that  I  am  iiuiebted 
for  the  privilege  of  exhibiting  it  here,  to  the  kindness  of  my 


esteemed  friend,  Mr.  Dinwiddle,  secretary  to  the  St.  Andrew's 
Society,  who  himself  gathered  it,  at  the  Poet's  grave,  and  who 
values  it  as  a  precious  relic  of  departed  worth  and  genius. 

[Mr.  Richard  Bell,  of  the  St.  Patrick's  Society,  handed 
round  the  hair.  The  "  lock  "  is  very  small,  and  is  incased  in 
a  neat  double  frame,  with  the  following  inscription  :] 


ROBERT     BUIIXS. 

Oil  the  decease  of  his  widow,  in  the  month  of  March,  1834,  the  mau- 
soleum of  the  poet,  at  Dumfries,  was  opened,  and  his  skull  exhumed, 
for  the  purpose  of  a  cast  being  taken  from  it.  The  writer  was  one  of 
the  few  persons  who  had  the  privilege  of  seeing  the  skull  on  that  inter- 
esting occasion.  He  remembers  it  was  in  good  preservation,  and  of 
unusually  large  size ;  so  much  so,  that  it  would  not  enter  the  writer's 
hat.  On  cleaning  the  skull  for  the  purpose  in  view,  a  small  portion  of 
hair  was  detached,  of  which  the  accompanying  is  a  fragment. 

llOBT.    DiXWIDDlE. 

New  York,  January,  1859. 

Mr.  Wm.  Robektson  then  sang  the  ever  welcome  song,  "  A 
man's  a  man  for  a'  that,"  which  was  greeted  with  the  usual 
enthusiasm. 

The  Chairman  then  gave  the  seventh  toast,  which  was  duly 
honored. 


The  Poets  and  Porlni  cf  Great  Britain  and  Ireland — Sanctified  in 
the  past  by  the  genius  of  a  Shakspeare,  a  Burns,  and  a  Moore — may 
their  successors  continue  to  advance  the  march  of  Intellect,  of  Civiliza- 
tion, and  of  Freedom. 


Music — "  Brave  old  oak." 

Mr.  William  Young,  of  the  New  York  Albion,  responded. 


THE   CEXTEXAKV    FESTIVAL.  SO 


MK.  YOUiNG  S    Sl'Ei;ciI. 

You  have  done  well,  Mr.  Chairman,  to  introduce  into  j'our 
programme  this  tribute,  at  once  so  apt  and  so  comprehensive. 
And  you,  gentlemen,  have  done  well  also  in  thus  cordially  re- 
ceiving it ;  for  isolation  is  not  part  of  the  genuine  poet's 
nature,  and  of  all  the  race  none  was  knit  more  closely  than 
Robert  Burns  to  men  of  his  own  vocation.  You  know,  gentle- 
men, for  3'ou  have  conned  over  lovingly  every  published  detail 
of  his  life,  that  Allan  Ramsay's  collection  of  songs  was  the 
vade-mecum  of  his  laborious  boyhood  ;  and  that  onh^  six 
months  before  his  death  he  spoke  of  Cowper's  "Task"  as  a 
glorious  poem,  and  of  Peter  Pindar  as  one  of  his  first  favor- 
ites. If  to  such  as  these  he  gave  such  honest  welcome,  how 
must  his  big  heart  have  yearned  toward  the  h)fty  ones  to 
whom  the  toast  alludes,  and  for  whom  I  am  expected  to  re- 
spond. 

But  what  response  shall  I  make? — can  I  make? — I,  who  am 
no  practised  orator,  and  unable,  therefore,  even  to  nnderstand 
that  marvelous  alacrity  with  which,  in  Parliament,  in  Con- 
gress, in  thronged  assemblage,  men  enunciate  the  rights  or  the 
wrongs  of  millions  born  or  unborn,  and  a])])t'ni-,  in  fact,  rather 
aided  than  impeded  by  the  ponderous  responsibilities  that  they 
shoulder.  The  greatness  of  the  theme  commended  to  my 
charge  brings  to  me  no  such  aid.  I  find  its  magnitude  op- 
pressive, its  variety  perplexing.  How  shall  I  grapple  with  it 
as  a  whole — with  what  portion  of  it  come  closely  into  con- 
tact ?  Would  you  have  me  dilate  upon  the  narrative  of 
Chaucer,  the  romance  of  Spenser,  Shakspeare's  drama,  or 
Milton's  epic?  Or,  coming  down  to  more  modern  times, 
would  you  care  to  hear  me  enumerate  the   almost   numberless 


90  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


odes,  that  have  been  dedicated  by  brother  followers  of  the 
muse  to  the  memory  of  the  genius  of  Burns  ?  Shall  I  remind 
you  of  Byron's  emphatic  declaration  that  one  of  his  most  art- 
fully artless  stanzas  contained  the  essence  of  all  the  love-songs 
in  the  world  ?  Shall  I  labor  to  draw  some  far-fetched  analogy, 
between  the  one  poet  whose  fame  we  are  met  to  celebrate,  and 
the  many  whom  you  have  just  now  associated  with  him  in 
your  libations  ?  I^o,  gentlemen  ;  any  such  attempt  would  be 
alike  wearisome  and  vain.  It  were  superfluous  to  dwell  upon 
the  copiousness  and  the  richness  of  British  and  Irish  poetry, 
on  the  one  hand;  on  the  other,  upon  the  unquestionable  fact, 
tliat  all  the  poetic  reach  and  wealth  of  the  United  Kingdom, 
from  troubadours  to  corn-law  rhymers,  has  failed  to  produce  a 
counterpart,  even  a  rival,  to  Robert  Burns,  in  the  precincts 
peculiarly  his  own.  Besides,  gentlemen,  if  your  patience 
would  tolerate  the  stringing  together  a  host  of  illustrious 
names  with  which  I  might  plead  some  familiarity,  I  should 
shrink,  in  the  presence  of  so  many  Scots,  from  affixing  epithets 
to  a  Motherwell,  a  Tannahill,  an  Allan  Cunningham,  a  Fergu- 
son ;  nor  less  from  marshaling  in  due  order  of  precedence  the 
Goldsmiths,  the  Dermodys,  the  Lovers,  the  Davises,  dear  all  to 
a  people  of  quick  impulse  and  keen  susceptibility.  For  these 
reasons,  then — warranted  also  by  the  occasion  and  by  this 
goodly  presence — I  prefer  to  invite  you  for  one  moment  to  the 
ground  less  familiarly  trodden,  nor  exhausted,  I  think,  by  the 
eloquence  of  those  who  have  preceded  me.  Keats  was  in  the 
right  of  it,  when  he  exclaimed : 

"  Oh  !  sweet  Fancy  !     Let  her  loose  ; 
Every  thing  is  spoilt  by  use." 

You  perceive  my  drift.     Not  that  I  would  bid  you  imagine 
Burns'  own  ejaculation  wrought  out  to  the  letter: 


THE   CENTENARY    FESTIVAL.  91 

"  Oh,  were  I  on  Parnassus'  hill, 
And  had  of  Helicon  my  fill  I" 

Nor  that  I  M'onld  undertake  to  localize  the  favored  spot, 
chanted  by  AVordsworth  when  a  pilgrim  to  the  banks  of  the 

Nith : 

"  WlitMC  all  that  fetched  the  flowing  rliyino, 
From  genuine  springs, 
Slifill  dwell  together,  till  old  Time 
Folds  lip  his  wings." 

Not  this — not  that !  Solely,  I  would  ask  you  to  figure  to  your- 
selves a  conclave  of  disembodied  spirits — of  those,  I  mean, 
dead  masters  of  our  nation's  written  melody,  who  have 
soothed,  and  enlightened,  and  animated  living  myriads 
through  successive  generations.  Scarcely  can  I  hope  to  con- 
vey to  3'ou  the  same  impression ;  but,  through  all  the  fumes  of 
your  rich  intellectual  incense,  I  see  them  even  now  in  my 
mind's  eye,  even  there  overhead,  bending  down  upon  us,  and 
smiling  approval.     And  why  should  they  not  be  there, 

*'  If  aught  of  things  that  here  befall 
Touch  a  spirit  among  things  divine," 

as  Tennyson  has  expressively  worded  it?  At  least  it  seems  to 
rae,  under  the  influence  of  surrounding  accessories  and  asso- 
ciations, not  unnatural  that  the  men  of  the  New  World  and  of 
the  Old  should  unite  for  briefest  space  upon  the  common 
ground  of  the  world  unseen.  At  least,  too,  the  conceit  has 
this  merit — that  each  who  listens  may  fill  up  its  faint  outline 
as  best  accords  with  his  own  individual  conceptions.  On  one 
point  alone  we  shall  surely  be  all  agreed.  Picturing  to  your- 
selves this  spirit-gathering — if  picture  it  you  can — you  hail  by 
instinct  the  one  in  the  splendid  group,  installed  for  this 
night  in  the  starriest  place  of  honor.  His  name  I  need  not 
repeat.     For  the  rest,  your  own  fancies  may  be  brought  ,into 


92  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

play ;  mine  1  will  not  inflict  upon  you.  Had  I  time,  indeed,  I 
should  lack  boldness  to  follow  out  mine  own  phantasy.  I 
could  not  essay  to  trace  the  separate  greeting  of  each  master- 
mind above  us — to  paint  William  Shatspeare,  for  instance, 
recognizing  in  Robert  Burns  not  one,  but  a  thousand,  of  those 
natural  touches  which  make  the  whole  world  kin  ;  or  Walter 
Scott  modestly  reminding  him  of  the  fulfilment  of  his  prophecy 
— "  You'll  be  a  man,  yet,  sir !"  I  content  myself,  therefore, 
with  offering  you  this  airy  suggestion,  in  place  of  citing  an 
abridgment  of  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets,  or  plying  you 
with  a  dissertation  on  the  characteristics  of  British  poetry. 

Thus  much,  Mr.  Chairman,  for  the  main  matter  of  your  toast ; 
but,  if  I  have  not  already  intruded  too  long,  the  sentiment  with 
which  it  closes  demands  also  a  word  of  acknowledgment.  You 
desire  that  the  successors  of  a  Shakspeare,  a  Burns,  and  a 
Moore,  may  continue  to  extend  the  dominions  of  Intellect,  of 
Civilization,  and  of  Freedom.  Have  no  fear,  gentlemen,  on 
that  score  !  Institutions  may  pass  away ;  Science  may  be 
baffled  or  exhausted  ;  Learning  may  dwindle  into  Pedantry ; 
the  face  of  the  world  may  be  changed — but  Poetry  is  enduring, 
and  dies  not;  nay,  is  gifted  with  perpetual  youth.  The  Song 
of  Solomon  and  the  Iliad  of  Homer  have  come  down  to  us 
in  all  their  freshness,  passing  unharmed  through  long,  long 
centuries  of  barbaric  rule  and  intellectual  darkness.  And  as 
it  has  been,  so  shall  it  be,  in  all  events.  Poetic  pearls  of  price 
will  retain  forever  the  admiration  of  the  world,  if  they  perish 
not  in  the  sifting  process  which  each  age  undertakes  for  itself. 
No,  gentlemen,  this  is  no  new-fangled  doctrine,  no  ism  of  the 
day.  Poets  have  lived  and  made  their  mark — else  why  this 
sympathetic  crowd  ?  Poets  do  live — as  you  yourself,  Mr. 
Chairman,  most  honorably  attest;  and  long  may  you  live.  Sir, 
to  bear  personal  witness  to  the  esteem  in  which   your  high 


THE    CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  93 


calling  is  held  !     Poets  shall  live — for  what  says  one  of  them, 

Thomas  Campbell,  he  who  was  born  a  countryman  of  Burns, 

but  has  been  somehow  drafted — I  might  almost  say  impressed 

— into   the   ranks   of   Englishmen  ?     Fervidly   and    trutlit'ully 

does  he  break  forth  : 

"  Yes,  there  are  lu^arttf;,  prophetic  Hope  may  trust, 
That  sluiiiber  yet  in  uncreated  dust, 
Ordained  to  fire  the  adoring  sons  of  earth 
With  every  charm  of  wisdom  and  of  worth; 

"  Ordained  to  liglit,  with  intellectual  day. 
The  mazy  wheels  of  Nature  as  they  play ; 
Or,  warm  with  Fancy's  energy,  to  glow 
And  rival  all  but  Shakspeare's  name  below!" 

Verily  I  have  faitli,  gentlemen,  in  that  prediction;  for  other- 
wise this  pleasant  festival  would  wear  to  me  the  aspect  of  a 
funeral  feast.  As  it  is,  so  confident  am  I  that  the  spiritual 
essence  of  Poetry  will  rise  superior  to  the  materialism  which 
is  crowding  us  in  all  the  walks  of  life,  that  I  could  almost 
wish  for  you  that  the  Spanish  proverb  might  indeed  be  realized, 
and  that  you  might  each  of  you  live  a  thousand  years,  so  as 
to  enjoy  ten  more  of  these  Burns  Club  Centennial  Anniver- 
saries. But  if  that  may  not  be — as  there  are  no  Methuselahs 
in  our  days — let  us  doubt  not  that  those  Mho  succeed  us  will 
in  due  time  be  similarly  privileged.  And  so  far  as  the  nation 
is  concerned  to  which  the  toast  before  us  directly  refers,  I  may 
remind  you  that  it  furnishes  a  signal  proof  that,  if  intellect  and 
due  regard  to  civilization  are  requisite  in  building  up  the 
modern  Minstrel's  fame,  so  a  love  for  freedom  has  become  an 
essential  ingredient  therein.  You  know,  gentlemen,  how  a 
graceful  remnant  of  the  olden  time  still  maintains  a  Poet 
Laureate  at  the  British  Court.  On  whose  brow,  I  pray  you, 
did  the  Lady  Sovereign's  hand  suspend  the  wreath,  that  marks 
the  poetic  champion  of  the  realm  ?  Was  it  a  sycophant  who 
was   thus   adorned  ?  an    adulator  ?  a  ringer  of  base  metal  ?  a 


94  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


mere  jingler  of  dulcet  melodies?  It  was  Alfred  Tennyson! 
Breathes  there  a  more  genuine  poet — one  who  has  married  im- 
mortal verse  to  sterner  truths — one,  in  short,  whose  manfulness 
is  more  in  unison  with  the  manly  spirit  of  Burns  ?  The  more 
I  think  of  this  choice,  gentlemen,  and  remember  how  it  was 
made,  and  how  popular  acclaim  approved  it,  the  more  assur- 
ance have  I  that  the  genius  of  British  poetry  gives  no  sign  of 
death  or  decay  ;  the  deeper  is  my  respect  for  the  Queen  of  the 
Isles ;  the  warmer  my  regard  for  my  countrymen. 

Finally — for  I  trespass  too  long- — I  repeat  that  what  has 
been,  will  be.  We  may  look  the  future  boldly  in  the  face. 
If  Cotton  be  King — as  some  anticipate — Poets-Laureate  will 
still  be  crowned  with  the  bays ;  only,  in  independence  at  least, 
they  must  be  and  will  be  men  of  the  Burns  and  the  Tennyson 
stamp. 

Mr.  Young's  remarks  were  greeted  with  frequent  applause. 

Mr.  George  Simpson  then  sang  "Tlie   Minstrel  Boy." 

Mr.  J.  D.  IN'oRCOTT,  2d  Vice-President,  introduced  the  eighth 

regular  toast  with  appropriate  remarks  : 

The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  America,  ens^raven  high  upon  the  scroll  of  fame 
— Maj^  their  influence  ever  be  exerted  in  favor  of  Truth,  Virtue,  and  In- 
dependence. 

Music—''  The  Old  Oaken  Bucket." 

Dr.  John  W.  Francis  was  called  on   to  respond,  and   on 

rising  was  loudly  cheered. 

SPEECH    OF  DR.  FRANCIS. 

Honored  and  Illustrious  Chairman:  It  requires  a  Knicker- 
bocker of  some  confidence  to  obey  the  summons  just  issued. 
This  is  no  ordinary  meeting.  I  behold  within  this  spacious 
hall  an  intellectual  assemblage  of  the  sons  of  Caledonia  such 
as,  I  apprehend,  was  never  before  brought  together  in  the  New 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  95 

World.  1  see  before  and  around  me,  on  every  side,  the  repre- 
sentatives of  an  illnstrious  people,  characterized  by  the  acqui- 
sition of  varied  knowledge,  and  stamped  with  the  attrihntes  of 
genius.  I  see  at  the  board,  not  only  the  possessors  of  wisdom, 
but  the  dispensers  of  its  bounties.  This  magniticent  spectacle, 
with  all  those  beautiful  illustrations  on  your  walls,  still  further 
illuminated  by  so  many  well-known  and  familiar  faces  present 
among  you  in  honor  of  this  great  occasion,  bespeak  a  co-opera- 
tion in  the  measures  of  this  night,  of  emphatic  signiiicance.  I 
behold,  moreover,  at  this  festive  board,  the  enlightened  sons  of 
almost  every  nation,  and,  more  than  all,  I  find  a  hearty  com- 
munion in  one  great  object  of  honor  to  intellect  and  humanity. 
I  have  been  taken  somewhat  by  surprise  at  the  duty  assigned 
me  on  this  memorable  anniversary,  to  deliver  my  sentiments 
on  the  poetry  and  poets  of  America.  Mr.  President,  what  can 
be  done  with  such  a  theme  within  the  limits  granted  at  this 
time'^  Sir,  had  1  offered  up  a  praj^er  as  long  as  the  Heidel- 
bui'g  catechism,  I  could  not  have  asked  for  a  more  copious 
subject.  Shall  I  take  up  the  dead  or  the  living  ?  Shall  the 
subject  be  our  earliest  versifiers,  the  poets  of  the  revolutionary 
period,  or  tlK>se  of  the  present  day,  now  flourishing  ?  Most 
conspicuous  during  our  revolution  were  Freneau,  Barlow, 
Trumbull,  Humphreys ;  and  at  the  head  we  must  place  Fre- 
neau. Then  follow  Hopkins  and  Osborn,  Alsop,  Dwight.  Of 
those  of  our  later  times,  who  will  dare  to  enumerate  them  ? 
The  genius  of  rhyme  is  a  characteristic  of  our  people,  and  1 
think  that  in  due  season  poetry  and  music  will  give  demon- 
strations of  their  mighty  influence,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
most  sceptical.  In  this  very  presence  I  see  before  me  two  of 
our  most  illustrious  bards,  and  the  speaker  who  last  addressed 
you  did  not  exceed  the  hopes  we  cherish,  when  he  said  that 
each  of  them  would  have  centenary  celebrations  granted  them. 


96  BURXS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

Bryant  M'onld  be  remembered  as  the  descriptive  poet  of  our 
American  scenery,  and  of  the  benevolent  sentiment ;  Ilalleck 
would  live  in  his  flow  of  humor,  his  satire,  and  in  his  illustra- 
tions of  the  times.  Tliere,  sir,  is  a  beautiful  feature  in  the 
writings  of  our  poets;  their  purity,  their  freedom  from  corrup- 
tion and  ribaldry.  Several  of  our  genuine  poets  have  the  ster- 
ling merit  of  having  written  marvelous  hynms,  a  species  of 
coDiposition  justly  pronounced  of  the  highest  order;  and  here 
we  enumerate  Freneau,  Barlow,  Bryant,  Dwight  and  Longfel- 
low. But,  most  appropi'iate  to  our  present  design,  how  pleas- 
ant it  is  to  reflect  how  happily  their  noble  natui-e  is  unfolded 
in  their  felicitous  pieces  on  the  noble  poet  Burns.  You  all 
know  what  Bryant  has  written ;  you  have  by  heart  the  verses 
of  Halleck — verses  on  the  Scottish  bard  as  undying  as  those 
which  Bui-ns  himself  has  penned.  1  forget  whether  Drake  gave 
wings  to  his  refined  and  sensitive  muse  on  the  illustrious  poet, 
but  our  Holmes  and  our  Whittier  have  eniiched  our  enumer- 
ation.    All  this  shows  a  glorious  impulse. 

Personally  I  knew  many  of  our  revolutionary  and  earlier 
poets,  and  their  peculiarities  in  habits  and  manners  attracted 
my  notice  in  my  boyish  days.  Freneau  and  Trumbull,  Hum- 
phreys, Alsop,  Dwight,  are  fresh  in  recollection.  I  was  in- 
structed, by  observation,  that  physical  bulk  was  no  necessary 
element  to  poetical  development ;  and  if  a  doctor  may  in  this 
place  give  a  medical  opinion,  I  might  be  indnced  to  say  that 
the  more  delicate  and  refined  the  human  form,  the  greater 
seems  the  inspiration  manifested  in  the  divine  art  in  such  indi- 
viduals. Darwin  had  flesh  enough  for  half  a  dozen  Alexander 
Popes;  Humphreys  wrtuld  have  outweighed  four  or  five  Fre- 
neaus;  and  my  old  colleague.  Dr.  ]V[itchill,  might  have  swal- 
lowed u])  Drake,  who  so  severely  perforated  his  intercostals  in 
his  Croaker  verses  to  Phloffobombos.     Somethin<>:  more  than 


THE    CENTENARY    FESTIVAL.  97 

flesh  and  blood  arc  dciuaiidi-'d  to  generate  a  poet.  lUit  1  must 
leave  that  to  the  plirenologist. 

T  shall  nut  attempt  a  critical  analysis  of  cither  the  I'evrdu- 
tionarv  poets  or  those  ot"  our  own  day.  I  have  luxuriated  in 
the  society  of  many  of  tliem,  and  resting  satisfied  with  a  soli- 
tiiry  ojiinion  concerning  one,  I  venture  to  say  that  our  Philip 
Freneau  is  so  identitied  by  patriotism,  by  suffering,  and  i)y  his 
prolific  muse,  with  the  momentous  occurrences  of  the  war  of 
indej)endence,  that  his  name  can  never  l)e  blotted  out  from  our 
American  annals.  His  Hudibrastic  exuberance  will  well  com- 
pare with  much  of  the  caustic  satire  and  vitni)eration  of  But- 
ler ;  and  the  Scotch  critic  Jeffrey  erred  little  when  he  said  that 
Freneau  might  hereafter  demand  a  Grey  for  a  commentator. 
The  most  positive  fact  that  we  know  concerning  his  adventur- 
ous life  is,  that,  like  Butler,  he  was  miserably  poor — the  common 
lot  of  the  poets  of  bygone  days.  The  many  collections  which 
liave  been  made  of  the  products  of  the  Columbian  muse,  by 
different  editors,  from  time  to  time,  evince  the  fact  that  the 
article  is  marketable  and  well  known.  Hence  I  have  the  less 
need  of  analysis  here,  and  shall  rest  satisfied  that  searchers  after 
knowledge  on  this  head  may  readily  gratify  their  desires  by 
studying  the  phibtsophieal  criticisms  by  Tuckcrman,  a  brother 
poet  and  an  essayist  of  the  Addisonian  school. 

You  might  infer  my  age  to  be  a  hundred  years  from  what  1 
have  uttered,  but  you  will  bear  in  recollection  that  it  Mas  a 
peculiarity  of  my  boyish  and  juvenile  days  always  to  seek  the 
society  of  old  persons — old  soldieis,  old  tars,  old  philosoi)hers, 
and  men  who  had  literary  renown.  By  this  I  think  T  have 
given  longevity  to  existence,  and  acquired  much  tloating 
knowledge  not  in  books;  and  with  this  sort  of  ]»ractic:d  infor- 
mation 1  have  cherished  antici[)ations  of  the  future  eminence 
of  my  country,  in  arts,  in  science,  and  in  poetry.  The  nation, 
13 


98  BURNS   CEXTEXNIAL    CELEBRATION. 


I  think,  has  done  well  in  the  inventive  arts,  and  I  would  be 
most  willing  to  witness  the  next  centennial  celebration  of  some 
present  or  future  inspired  bard. 

But  I  must  leave  this  prolific  theme,  as  I  desire  to  say  a  few 
words  on  the  great  occasion  that  has  summoned  this  imposing 
meeting,  this  great  centennial.  The  sublime  genius  and  child 
of  song  who  has  brought  us  together  this  night,  in  whatever 
light  he  is  viewed,  is  to  be  recognized  as  of  an  order  of  mortals 
rare  and  wonderful,  and  commanding  our  admiration  by  the 
powers  of  his  intellect  and  the  humanity  of  liis  nature,  lour 
search  must  be  long  ere  you  find  his  equal.  Prolific  as  we 
are  of  biographies  of  the  illustrious,  he  stands  almost  alone  in 
his  eminent  attributes.  He  was,  indeed,  portion  of  what  sur- 
rounded him,  but  he  is  yet  sufficiently  isolated  to  bear  a  dis- 
tinct impress,  and  to  be  stamped  with  an  individuality  that 
tolerates  no  amalgamation.  Mr.  President,  you,  in  your  appro- 
priate address  at  the  opening  of  this  meeting,  gave  utterance 
to  sentiments  convincing  to  all,  that  you  fully  comprehended 
the  greatness  of  your  subject,  and  with  a  poef  s  feelings  you 
generously  acknowledged  the  merits  of  the  noble  bard.  There 
was  a  remarkable  fitness  in  thus  assiguing  to  you  this  peculiar 
duty.  You  must  well  remember  the  lines  which  passed  be- 
tween Ilayley  and  the  poet  Cowper  : 

"  Thoy  bost  can  tell  a  poc^t's  wortli 
Who  oft  themselves  have  shown, 
The  pangs  of  a  poetic  birth 
By  labors  of  their  own." 

With  your  kind  permission,  I  will  trespass  a  few  moments 

longer  on  the  patience  of  this  large  assembly.     Forty-three 

years  ago,  I  made  a  visit  to  Europe  for  professional  advantages. 

On  my  arrival  at  Liverpool,  there  was  some  time  at  disposal 

ere  the  medical  courses  began.      I   thouglit  it  profitable  to 

ramble  through  old  Scotia  in  the  meanwhile.     The  English 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  99 


lakes  dispatched,  and  a  cordial  and  most  delectable  interview 
held  with  Southey,  at  Greta  Hall,  near  Keswick,  where  the 
great  author  vindicated  his  American  feelings  and  services 
against  the  anon^-nious  assaults  he  had  received  from  some  of 
our  public  writers,  I  soon  found  myself  in  Scotland,  and  the 
names  of  Dumbarton  and  Doctor  Hornbook,  and  the  story  of 
Highland  Mary,  first  sainted  my  ears.  In  Ayrshire,  Bonnie 
Doon,  the  Twa  Briggs,  and  AUoway  Kirk,  led  to  tiie  mud  cot- 
tage where  the  poet  was  born,  AVith  a  very  early  relish  for 
the  Caledonian  minstrel,  I  was  now,  by  novel  occurrences,  im- 
pregnated with  the  greater  zeal  to  occupy  all  leisure  I  could 
command  to  the  study  of  the  life,  character,  and  services  of 
Burns,  Kilmarnock,  the  place  where  his  poems  were  first 
printed,  &c.,  tfec.  It  seemed  to  me,  from  all  I  heard,  that  every 
other  name  was  lost  in  comparative  obscurity  compared  with 
Burns'.  He  was  the  nation's  idol,  and  every  circumstance 
pertaining  to  him  was  the  topic  of  popular  discussion.  I  for- 
bear to  be  too  minute,  but  I  may  affirm  that  the  people  held 
him  in  their  heart  of  hearts,  and  laudatory  strains  proceeded 
from  the  peasant's  lips  and  the  enlightened  scholar,  with  equal 
love  and  appreciation  of  his  great  qualities  and  mighty  intel- 
lect. Were  I  to  specify,  as  it  occurred  to  me,  the  most  deeply- 
impressed  works  of  Burns,  on  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen,  I 
would  cite  Highland  Mary  and  Tarn  O'Shanter.  At  Dumfi-ies  I 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  introduced  to  John  Syme,  tlie  long- 
tried,  intimate  and  disinterested  friend  of  Burns.  This  delect- 
able Scotchman,  whose  portrait,  in  Wilson's  edition,  is  most 
happily  given,  yielded  to  me  numerous  facts  and  details  con- 
cerning the  national  poet.  Johnny  Syme  had  in  fact  become 
the  embodiment  of  almost  every  thing  associated  with  Burns : 
he  had  made  a  study  of  the  bard ;  he  comprehended  his  errors, 
his  virtues,  his  writings ;  pointed  out  what  he  conceived  to  be 


100  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

the  source  of  their  iinboiinded  popularity ;  his  tenderness,  his 
poetic  temperament,  and  his  deep  inspiration.  I  visited  the 
localities  recorded  in  his  poems,  and  could  but  wonder  at  the 
gratification  a  Scotchman  felt  when  he  designated  the  place 
where  the  poor  mouse  was  turned  up,  where  the  daisy  was 
crushed,  itc,  &c.  The  old  blacksmith-shop,  where  Burns 
passed  many  hours,  the  conspicuous  public  edifice  where  he 
wrote  the  "  Soldier's  Return"  on  wandow-glass  with  his 
diamond  pencil,  are  among  a  few  of  my  reminiscences. 

My  visit  to  Nasuiyth,  the  artist,  led  to  the  disclosure  that 
but  one  painting  was  ever  made  of  Burns  from  the  life,  and 
that  the  poet  was  reluctant  to  give  the  painter  even  time  for 
that.  My  excellent  friend  Syme  led  me  to  Dr.  Maxwell,  the 
physician  who  attended  Burns  in  his  last  illness.  I  thought, 
from  the  printed  records,  that  obscurity  rested  on  the  immedi- 
ate cause  of  the  prematui-e  demise  of  the  illustrious  patient. 
Dr.  Maxwell  was  very  frank  in  his  statements.  Burns  had 
been  led  to  the  conviction  that  bathing  in  the  Solway  would 
restore  his  constitution  ;  and  though  at  the  time  sufl:ering  from 
mercurial  distress,  he  would  listen  to  no  advice  to  the  contrary, 
but  indulged  in  bathing  for  three  or  four  days,  when  acute 
sufferings  brought  him  home,  where,  after  three  days'  painful 
existence,  he  died.  Mr.  Syme's  courtesy  made  me  acquainted 
with  Bonnie  Jean  at  her  domicile.  She  confirmed  the  story  of 
his  illness  and  the  manner  of  his  death — a  sad  ruirrative,  Avhich 
she  gave  not  without  emotion.  I  ])assed  some  hours  in 
conversation  with  dear  Jean:  I  gave  utterance  to  strong  ex- 
pression in  praise  of  the  marvelous  talents  of  her  husband,  and 
added  that  Burns  was  considered  by  our  American  people  the 
greatest  genius  Scotland  liad  given  birth  to.  She  replied,  she 
had  (A'ten  heard  the  same  praise  bestowed  on  him  by  numerous 
visitors  who  called  to  see  her:  "Madam,"  I  added,  "such  is 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  101 


the  current  opinion."  ''That  1  have  learned,"  rojoincd  she, 
'*  to  be  tlie  ease,  since  /lis  death.  I  iras  If/norant  of  it  hfore^ 
for  Rohert  loas  very  rarely  at  horae.''''  Poor  Jean  said  she  had 
parted  with  every  scrap  of  paper  on  wliicli  Burns  had  written ; 
so  many  had  solicited  even  the  smallest  fragment  of  his  com- 
position— a  word,  a  sentence  sufiiced.  Siie  searched,  however, 
for  a  while,  and  fortnnatt'ly  brought  to  my  inspection  some 
five  or  six  lines  of  his  manuscript,  three  words  of  wliich  sjie 
gave  me,  "Go  tell  Gilbert." 

I  shall  conclude  with  stating  that  tliis  night  forty-thi'ec  years 
ago  I  was  honored  with  an  invitation  to  Burns'  amiiversary, 
held  in  Edinburgh.  AValter  Scott  presided,  aided  by  Alexan- 
der Boswell,  the  late  Lord  Auchinleck.  It  was  a  great  turn-out 
of  Scotland's  eminent  men.  Prominent  among  the  great  festi- 
val were  Jeffrey,  the  critic,  Simoiid,  tlie  traveler,  ^\'ilson 
(Kit  North),  Sir  George  Mackenzie,  Jamicson,  the  author  of 
the  Scottish  Dictionary,  Baird,  the  Principal  of  the  University, 
several  of  the  professors,  George  Thomson,  the  musical  corre- 
spondent of  the  poet : — the  Ettrick  Shepherd  had  failed  to  ap- 
pear, and  the  venerable  author  of  the  Man  of  Feeling,  Henry 
Mackenzie,  whom  I  had  seen  a  few  days  before  at  the  High- 
land Society,  was  disabled  by  illness  and  infirmity,  from  mak- 
ing one  of  the  social  board.  To  the  sentiment — '*Tiie  living 
poets  of  Scotland" — Scott  made  a  beautiful  address  in  belialf 
of  Campbell. 

Mr.  Chairman,  your  occupancy  of  that  chair  relleets  honor 
on  the  Burns  Association,  and  all(»w  me  to  say  that  tlie  Club, 
in  their  selecticju,  have  added  to  your  renown.  Tlie  rei)uta- 
tion  of  the  illustrious  bard  has  swelled  with  each  revolving  year, 
and  where  shall  we  find  another  name  in  poetic  historj'  glori- 
fied by  such  demonstrations  as  mark  this  evening,  in  refined 
society,  and  in  remotest  parts  of  the  world  I     l^urns'  vast  gifts 


102  BURNS    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 


first  attracted  attention  in  this  country  just  about  tlie  period 
of  the  popularity  of  the  Delia  Cruscan  school.  That  has  dis- 
solved, while  the  Scottish  minstrel  is  omnipresent  everywhere. 
What  are  the  ingredients  which  have  nourished  to  such  vigor 
this  extraordinary  man?  Sir,  they  were  his  enlarged  humanity. 
He  possessed  an  elephantine  heart ;  his  sympathies,  with  com- 
mon life,  his  love  of  his  species,  his  wide  benevolence,  his 
patriotism,  his  lofty  spirit  of  independence,  his  inflexible 
integrity,  his  unflinching  honesty,  his  deep,  pervading  re- 
lisrious  sentiment  toward  God  and  man.  He  wrote  for  un- 
lettered  men  and  for  the  peasantry,  and  yet  the  wiser  we 
grow  the  deeper  is  our  reverence  for  him  ;  childhood 
and  youth  are  delighted  with  him— the  philosopher  is  in- 
structed by  him,  so  deep  are  his  researches  into  nature.  I 
have  heard  little  said  to-night  touching  his  prose  compositions. 
His  dedication  to  the  Caledonian  Hunt  is  almost  an  unequaled 
specimen  of  pure  English  style ;  his  correspondence  with 
Thomson  will  not  suffer  in  comparison  with  the  best  of 
writers.  There  is  a  strain  of  exalted  devotion  in  him  toward 
his  Creator  that  finds  scarcely  a  parallel  among  the  writings  of 
acknowledged  theologians,  and  his  honest  sentiments  yield  to 
the  afflicted  and  the  forlorn  a  consolation  not  unlike  that  de- 
rived from  the  page  of  Holy  "Writ.  Tliere  is  a  frankness  in 
his  expressions  of  abhorrence  against  religious  hypocrisy  that 
touches  the  heart  of  the  experienced  sojourner  on  earth.  You 
will  pardon  my  citing  a  verse  : 

'*  God  knows  I'm  not  the  thing  T  should  bo, 
Nor  am  I  oven  tho  thing  I  could  bo, 
IJut,  twenty  times,  I  r.ather  would  be 

An  Atheist  clean, 
Than  under  Gospel  colors  hid  be, 
Just  for  a  screen." 

As  associated  with  the  renown  of  Burns,  1  would  crave  a 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  103 

moment's  indulgence  while  1  speak  of  that  remarkahle  occur- 
rence which  took  place  in  this  our  metropolis;  the  arrival, 
many  years  ago,  of  those  striking  examples  of  art,  the  sculp- 
tor's illustrations  of  the  Poet,  the  group  of  Souter  Johnny,  Tarn 
O'Shanter,  and  the  Landlady.  That  intuitive  genius  Thom  gave 
satisfactory  evidence  of  his  rich  capability  to  unfold  in  palp- 
able form  the  imaginings  of  Burns,  and  let  me  add  that  prob- 
ably no  work  in  sculpture  ever  met  with  a  heartiei'  acceptance 
by  our  people  than  these  specimens  of  unlettered  talent  and 
intellect.  Burns'  vast  popularity  unquestionably  swelled  the 
crowds  to  see  and  to  admire  those  extraordinary  productions, 
and  they  found  that  the  chisel  of  Thom  had  imparted  life  and 
animation  to  the  poet's  finest  conception,  and  furnished  master- 
pieces of  graphic  delineation  worthy  of  a  nation's  pride.  I 
have  often  conversed  with  Thom:  some  of  the  best  efforts  of 
art  nuiy  be  found  in  the  workmanship  of  the  recently  erected 
Trinity  Church,  at  the  liead  of  Wall  street.  I  fear  he  was  too 
much  neglected  even  by  his  countrymen.  He  died  some  four  or 
five  years  ago  in  straitened  circumstances.  I  had  the  honor 
to  be  one  of  the  limited  number  wlio  attended  his  funeral.  But 
this  late  hour  of  the  night,  or  rather  advanced  state  of  tlie  morn- 
ing, prohibits  fui'ther  observations,  and  I  shall  say  no  more. 

Dr.  Francis  resumed  his  seat  amid  great  and  prolonged  ap- 
plause. 

The  hour  of  one  o'clock  having  arrived,  Mr.  Bryant  rose  to 
retire.  The  President  of  the  Club  announced  his  intention,  and 
proposed  his  health  with  Highland  honors.  This  was  one  of  the 
most  animated  scenes  of  the  evening,  each  person  standing  upon 
his  seat,  Mith  one  foot  upon  the  table,  and  cheering  with  the 
utmost  enthusiasm.  Mr.  Bryant  tlianked  the  company  for  the 
warmth  of  feeling  exhibited  toward  him,  and  withdrew.  The 
chair  was  then  occupied  by  the  President  of  the  Club. 


104  BURN'S  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


Mr.  William  Park  then  sang,  with  good  taste,  "  Woodman, 
spare  that  tree." 

The  ninth  toast  was  next  proposed  hy  Mr.  Archibald  : 

77;e  Heroes  of  Scotland. — Inspired  by  p;itrioti8in  and  love  of  liberty, 
their  noble  deeds  have  shed  unfading  lustre  on  the  land  of  their  birth  ;  and 
while  the  patriot's  claymore  rusts,  and  his  shield  hangs  useless  on  the 
wall,  may  the  valor  that  wielded  them  be  held  in  undying  remembrance 
by  a  grateful  posterity. 

The  toast  was  received  with  a  storm  of  apphiuse. 

Music.—''  Garb  of  Okl  Gaul." 

Mr.  Jamks  Nicholson  (a  member  of  tlie  Chib),  responded. 

MK.  Nicholson's  speech. 

Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen  :  It  must  have  been  a 
source  of  pride  and  gratitication  to  every  Scotchman  in  this 
assembly  to  witness  the  enthusiasm  with  which  this  toast  has 
been  received. 

If  this  company  were  all  Scots,  and  seated  around  one  of  the 
many  festive  boards  spread  this  evening  in  honor  of  Robert 
Burns,  in  the  land  of  his  and  their  birth,  in  the  land  which  he 
so  dearly  loved  and  sung,  surronnded  by  monuments  of  Scot- 
tish patriotism  and  valor,  by  the  places  that  gave  onr  heroes 
birth — by  the  heathery  hills  where  they  rambled  in  childhood, 
and  the  scenes  where  in  manhood  they  fought  and  coiupiered, 
or  fell — such  an  enthusiasm  might  have  excited  no  connnent; 
but  here  in  the  empire  city  of  the  New  World,  and  in  an  as- 
sembly where  so  many  different  nations  arc  represented,  it 
proves  that  Scotland's  heroes  are  more  than  natioiLil — that 
tlieir  valor  and  patriotism  have  won  for  them  the  admiration 
and  gratitude  of  every  lover  of  fi-eedom  tln-oughout  the  world. 
When  speaking  of  the  "heroes  of  Scotland,"  the  mind  luitu- 
rally  revei'ts  to  the  names  of  Wallace  and  I3ruce  ;  not,  however. 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  105 

to  the  exclusion  of  lier  many  other  sons,  who  have  maintained 
the  honor  of  tlieir  country,  and  won  the  proud  title  of  "  hero" 
on  many  a  hard-fuuglit  battlefield,  from  the  earliest  period  of 
her  history  down  to  the  present  day — from  Galgacus  to  Sir 
Colin  Campbell — but  because  the}i^  by  indomitable  courage 
and  steady  perseverance,  rescued  their  country  from  oppres- 
sion, and  secured  her  independence,  at  a  period  the  darkest  in 
her  history — when  her  very  thistle  scarcely  dared  to  raise  its 
prickly  stem  to  the  light  of  day,  and  when  the  bloom  of  her 
heather  blushed  a  deeper  crimson,  as  if  dyed  by  the  blood  of 
her  bravest  and  best,  that  had  fallen  in  defending  it  from  the 
hoof  of  the  invader;  it  is  because  in  securing  their  country's 
independence  they  laid  the  foundation  of  all  tlie  greatness  of  : 
which  our  worthy  guest  so  eloquently  spoke  in  his  response  to  I 
the  toast  of  "Scotland" — it  is  because  they  left  to  posterity  a 
noble  example  of  what  can  be  done  by  true  men  in  a  just  I 
canse,  and  telling  them  more  forcil)ly  than  M'ords  can  express,  ! 
''"Wlio  would  be  free,  himself  must  strike  the  blow." 

If  we  turn  to  the  page  of  history,  we  find  there  have  been 
many  heroes,  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times,  who  have  led 
great  armies,  and  won  great  victories,  as  great  in  a  military 
point  of  view,  whose  names  are  almost  forgotten,  or  if  remem- 
bered, it  is  only  with  a  feeling  of  regret,  to  think  hov\-  many 
brave  men  they  sacrificed  in  their  efforts  to  leave  their  "  foot- 
prints on  the  sands  of  time  ;"  but  our  heroes  ionght  i;ot  for 
selfish  fame,  they  fought  not  tor  conquest,  they  fought  not  to 
enslave  other  countries,  but  to  save  their  own  ;  they  fought  for 
their  birthright,  for  liberty,  for  country,  for  home,  for  every 
thing  that  makes  life  worth  possessing.  Their  cause  was  the 
cause  of  human  freedom:  "Their  every  battlefield  was  holy 
ground." 

It  is  this  tliat  makes  such   names  as  Wallace   and  Washinu'- 
14 


106  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 


ton  "  household  words ;"  it  is  this  that  makes  them  more  than 
national — their  fame  belongs  to  no  country,  to  no  definite 
period,  but  to  all  time.  Their  claymores  now  rest,  and  their 
shields  hang  useless  on  the  wall;  but  their  memories  are  still 
dear  to  us;  to  tlieni,  and  such  as  them,  we  are  indebted  for  the 
liberty  and  independence  we  now  enjoy,  and  while  thus  ex- 
pressing our  gratitude  and  acknowledging  their  influence  in  the 
past,  we  may  still  hope  that — 

"  Thtni"  naiTiPS  will  bo, 
A  watchword  till  the  future  shall  be  free." 

Mr.  William  Cleland  then  gave  the  air,  "  Scots,  wha  hae," 
upon  the  Scottish  pipes,  amid  great  enthusiasm,  after  which 
Mr.  Miranda  sang  the  song  with  remarkable  effect,  and  was 
rapturously  encored. 

The  tenth  toast  was  then  announced  by  the  Chairman : 

TJte  Memonj  of  Washington. 

This  toast  was  received  by  the  com])any  standing,  in  silence, 
the  band  playing  a  dirge. 

Mr.  Parke  Godwin  here  made  some  elo(|uent  remarks,  but 
from  the  lateness  of  the  hour  they  were  not  reported. 

The  eleventh  toast  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Archibald,  and 
properly  honored : 

TJie  Press — May  it  ever  be  guided  by  men  pure  and  npriglit — the  herald 
of  Freedom — tlic  rij^ht  hand  of  Civilizatioii — spreadiiiij  intelligence  and 
virtue  among  the  people,  and  dispelling  the  darkness  of  Ignorance  and 
Superstition. 

[This  toast,  like  the  sixth,  was  announced  out  of  its  regular 
order,  to  accommodate  Mr.  Greeley,  who  was  to  respond.] 

Music. — "  There's  a  good  time  coming." 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  107 


HON.    IIORACK    GKEELEY 

responded  briefly,  but  pertinently.  He  said  that  it  seemed  but 
just  tliat  the  admirers  of  Burns  should  honor  the  Press,  for  he 
would  not  have  been  known  as  he  is  had  it  not  been  for  the 
Press.  They  say  there  were  great  kings  before  Agamemnon, 
and  great  poets  before  Homer — but  what  does  the  world  know 
of  them  ?  They  ]>erished  in  the  same  age  in  which  they  were 
born.  There  may  have  been  other  poets  in  Scotland  as  inspired 
as  Burns,  whose  songs  were  never  heard  beyond  the  circle  of 
their  friends. 

"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  hlusli  unseen." 

But  Burns  was  more  fortunate.  Burns'  boyhood  was  passed 
amid  the  stir  of  great  events.  Had  the  electric  telegraph  then 
existed,  he  might  almost  have  listened  to  the  roar  of  cannon 
at  Lexington  and  at  Bunker  Hill.  In  its  hour  the  press  has 
owed  much  to  Burns.  It  has  learned  to  take  the  side  of  the 
friendless,  against  tradition  and  against  the  privileges  of  the 
higher  classes.  This  character  it  owes  to  the  spirit  of  Robert 
Burns.  It  is  well  that  the  Press  is  deemed  worthy  of  the  com- 
mendation of  his  friends.  Such  recognition  will  cheer  the 
journalist  and  inspire  the  poet.  Mr.  Greeley  closed  with  the 
following  sentiment: 

The  Peasant  Poet — Groat  in  what  ho  has  done  for  the  unpriviIo<;c(l 
million  ;  greater  in  what  he  has  taught  th(Mn  to  do  for  themselves. 

Mr.  Greeley's  remarks  were  warmly  received.  When  he 
had  concluded — 

Mr.  Geo.  Marshall  sang  "■  The  Birth  of  Printing,"'  an  ode 
written  many  years  since,  by  Mr.  Greeley,  for  another  occa- 
sion. 


108  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

The  twelfth  and  last  regular  toast  was  given  from  the  Chair, 
and  was  received,  as  usual,  with  vehement  applause. 

The  Lasses — Clustering  tendrils,  twining  themselves  around  man's 
dearest  affections ;  the  pride  and  ornament  of  his  youth  and  manhood — 
the  constant  and  never-failing  stay  of  declining  years. 

Music. — "  Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  !" 

Mr.  Richard  Bell,  of  the  St.  Patrick's  Society,  who  was 
to  have  responded,  having  retired — 

Mr.  Edwakd  Fishek  (a  member  of  the  Club)  spoke  to  the 
toast ;  and  for  a  considerable  time  entertained  the  company 
with  one  of  the  most  witty  speeches  of  the  evening. 

Mr.  Geo.  Simpsox  then  sang  "  My  wife's  a  winsome  wee 
thing,"  with  such  effect  as  called  for  a  repetition,  when  he 
substituted  with  equal  felicity  and  good  taste  "  My  bonnie 
Jean." 

The  Chairman  then  called  upon  ]Mr.  Joseph  Laing  for  an 
original  song,  written  for  this  occasion,  by  a  member  of  the 
Club,  as  the  closing  feature  of  the  programme.  It  was  given, 
as  follows,  with  great  applause : 

THE    KING    0'    MEN. 

BY     T.     C.     LATTO. 

Should  humble  state  our  mirth  provoke, 

What  folly  to  misca'  that ; 
The  sapling  grows  a  stately  oak, 

Wi'  spreading  shade  an'  a'  that. 
A  hunder  years  sinsyne  in  Kyle 

The  gossips  laugh'd  an'  a'  that, 
As  wi'  a  cry  an'  half  a  smile, 

Wee  Rab  cam  hame  an'  a'  that. 

For  a'  that  an'  a'  that. 

His  toils,  his  cares  an'  a'  that. 

We've  seen  a  plowman  crowned  at  last 

The  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  109 


A  sturdy  imp  an'  stronpj  lio  grew. 

Was  fond  o'  fun  an'  ;i'  that. 
But  Indopendcnco  novor  knew 

A  braver  son  for  a'  tliat. 
A  frichten'd  mouse  his  heart  wad  move, 

A  p;owan  crushed,  an'  a'  tliat, 
But  woman's  e'o  and  woman's  love 

They  were  his  muse  for  a   that. 

He  seized  the  lyre  when  in  his  teens, 

He  struck  it  sweet  an'  a'  that ; 
He  thrill'd  tlie  hearts  o'  Scottish  Jeans, 

An'  wan  their  love  an'  a'  that. 
And  now  a  lunuler  years  hae  pass'd, 

0'  checker'd  hue  an'  a'  that, 
What  he  was  then  an'  what  he's  noo 

I  leave  ye  a'  to  draw  that. 

He  sweeps,  a  comet,  thro'  the  wain, 

Its  heights  an'  howes  an'  a'  that ; 
An'  gathering  glory  for  his  train, 

As  on  he  rowes  an'  a'  that. 
The  Prince  that  ruled  where  he  was  reared 

His  name's  forgot  an'  a'  that, 
But  wha  forgets  the  Peasant  bard, 

What  Scotsman  ever  saw  that  ? 

Let  Genius  take  its  mighty  swing, 

We've  seen  the  day  an'  a'  that; 
A  cotter  rise  aboon  a  king. 

The  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 
Then  till  your  bumpers  up,  my  lads, 

We'll  drain  them  out  an'  a'  that ; 
Wi'  three  times  three  for  Scotia's  Bard, 

Wha's  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

For  a'  that  an'  a'  that. 
His  toils,  his  cares  an'  a'  that  : 
We  crown  this  night  a  plowman  lad, 
The  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

The  President  then  read  the  followino;  communication  from 
Yaik  Clikkhugii,  Sr.,  Esq.,  a  former  President  of  the  Club, 
but  now  of  Montrose,  Scotland.  Mr.  Clirehugh  was  well 
known  to  many  of  those  present,  and  his  letter  and  sentiment 
received  cordial  greeting.     The  following  is  a  copy  : 


110  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 


To  THE  President  of  the  Burns  Club  of  New  York  City  : 

My  Dear  Sir: 

I  have  much  pleasure  in  transmitting  a  sentiment  for  this 
great  and  auspicious  occasion,  under  the  impression  that  it  will  receive 
no  less  a  welcome  than  has  been  so  often  accorded  to  myself  from  the 
members  of  the  Club. 

Although  my  voice  is  no  longer  heard  in  your  halls,  and  may  never 
again — "  tho'  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roared," — yet  my  words  may 
still  find  a  response  at  your  social  gatherings,  while  the  memories  <  f  the 
past,  as  long  as  life  shall  last,  will  ever  bloom  fresh  and  green  in  my 
heart.  I  remain,  dear  Sir, 

Yours  very  truly, 

Vair  Clirehugh. 
Montrose,  Scotland,  6th  Jan.,  1859. 


SENTIMENT. 


May  pi'osperity  always  follow  the  progress  of  the  New  York  l>urns 
Club  :  may  its  members,  linked  in  one  common  brotherhood,  ever  enjoy 
the  moral  pleasures  of  to-day,  and  be  ever  ready  to  meet  sorrow  and 
mischance  to-morrow. 

The  President  also  announced  the  receipt  of  a  letter  from 
another  ex-President  of  the  Club,  Mr.  James  Linen,  now  a 
resident  of  San  Francisco,  Cal.,  which  was  also  cordially 
honored  by  tlie  company. 


DELEGATIONS,    DISPATCHES,    AND    COMMUNICATIONS. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  a  delegation  from  the  Burns 
Association  celebrating  the  day  at  Mozart  Hall,  New  York, 
was  introduced.  The  gentlemen  composing  it  (Messrs.  T.  C. 
Gray,  A.  Tuknbull,  and  T.  V.  Bowik)  conveyed  a  sentiment 
from  the  Burns  Association,  which  was  received  with  all  the 
honors. 

The  sixth  regular  toast — '■''Kindred  Associations  throughout 


THE   CENTENARY   FESTIVAL.  Ill 


the  world^''  as  has  been  previously  intimated  in  this  report, 
was  telegraphed  during  tlie  day  and  evening  to  the  following 
places,  to  be  given  simultaneously  at  ten  o'clock,  p.  m.,  New 
York  time : 

Boston,  Mass.  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Philadelphia,  Penn.  Natchez,  Miss. 

Newark,  N.  J.  St.  John's,  N.  B. 

Albany,  N.  Y.  Halifax,  N.  S. 

Troy,  "  Quebec,  C.  E. 

Auburn,      "  Three  Rivers,  C.  E. 

Baltimore,  Mu.  Montreal,  " 

Cincinnati,  O.  Cornwall,  C.  W. 

Charleston,  S.  C.  Kingston,       " 

Detroit,  Mich.  Toronto,         " 

MiLWAUKiE,  Wis.  Hamilton,      " 

Telegraphic  dispatches  were  announced  from  the  Chair,  dui-- 
ing  the  evening,  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States  and  the 
Canadas,  and  received  with  great  enthusiasm.  It  was  designed 
to  furnisli  a  complete  list  of  the  places  from  whicli  dispatches 
and  communications  wei'c  received,  and  tlie  f^entiments  con- 
veyed :  but  as  many  of  the  docnments  have  been  mislaid,  we 
are  compelled  to  abandon  the  intention. 

After  the  regular  business  of  the  evening  was  concluded,  a 
number  of  songs,  sentiments  and  speeches  were  given  by  vari- 
ous members  of  the  company,  but  the  lateness  of  the  hour  pre- 
cluded the  general  participation,  which  is  usually  one  of  the 
most  attractive  features  of  a  Burns  L'estival.  At  about  three 
o'clock,  A.  M.,  the  Centennial  FcHtival  was  closed  with  the  time- 
honored  song,  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 

Besides  the  celebration  by  the  Burns  Club,  various  other 


112  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

meetings,  public  and  private,  were  held  in  the  city  of  New 
York  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 

The  Burns  Association  held  a  brilliant  and  successful  meet- 
ing at  Mozart  Hall,  Broadway.  David  B.  Scott,  Esq.,  presided, 
and  many  effective  speeches  were  made.  That  of  Prof.  Nairne 
has  been  universally  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  most  eloquent 
tributes  of  the  day. 

The  "  AuLD  Lang  Syne"  Association  also  celebrated  the  an- 
niversary in  an  appropriate  manner.  David  B.  Kerr,  Esq., 
presided. 

A  spirited  gathering  of  gentlemen,  numbering  over  one  hun- 
dred, was  convened  at  the  corner  of  William  and  Pine  streets. 
PoBERT  Anderson,  Esq.,  presided. 

These  and  other  more  private  assemblies  fitly  represented  the 
admirers  of  Burns  in  the  great  empire  city  of  America,  on  the 
memorable  25th  of  January,  1859. 


[The  Editor  tenders  his  acknowledgments  to  the  efficient 
Corresponding  Secretary,  and  other  members  of  the  Club,  for 
material  and  information  furnished  in  the  compilation  of  this 
report.] 


ritiiUti^^  dI  iJu  W^^t^. 


THE    l^RIZE    ODE, 

DELIVERED  AT  THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE,  LONDON,  JANUARY  25,  1859. 

[It  was  announced  at  the  Centenary  Festival  at  the  Sydenham  Crystal  Palace, 
London,  that  the  prize  of  Fifty  Pounds  ofl'ered  by  the  Company  for  the  best  Poem 
for  the  occasion  had  been  unanimously  adjudged,  from  among  six  hundred  and 
twenty  competitors,  to  Miss  Agnes  Craig.  Miss  Craig  is  a  young  Scotchwoman,  a 
native  of  Edinlnirgii.  Early  left  an  orphan,  she  was  reared  and  educated  under  the 
care  of  a  grandmother  not  in  aflluent  circumstances.  With  praiseworthy  industry, 
and  self-cultivation  of  her  intellectual  powers,  she  early  resolved  to  work  out  her 
own  pecuniary  independence.  By  occasional  poetical  contributions  to  the  Edinburgh 
Scotsman,  she  gained  the  notice  and  kindness  of  Mr.  John  Ritchie,  the  oldest  and 
principal  proprietor  of  that  journal ;  and  for  some  years  she  was  employed  by  this 
early  patron  and  friend  on  its  literary  department.  In  1856  Messrs.  Blackwood 
published  in  a  small  volume  a  collection  of  Miss  Craig's  fugitive  metrical  composi- 
tions, under  the  title  of  "  Poems  by  Isa."  The  author  has  also  been  a  contributor, 
under  the  signature  of  "  C,"  to  the  poetry  of  the  National  Magazine.  In  August, 
1857,  on  Miss  Craig's  first  visit  to  a  London  friend,  Mr.  Hastings,  the  honorary  secre- 
tary of  the  National  Association  of  Social  Science,  engaged  her  services  in  the 
organization  of  the  society,  and  to  this  association  Miss  Craig  is  still  attached  as  a 
literary  assistant.  The  published  transactions  of  the  association  owe  much  to  her 
talent  and  good  judgment.] 

We  hail  this  morn, 
A  century's  noblest  birth  ; 

A  Poet  peasant-born, 
Who  more  of  Fame's  immortal  dower 

Unto  his  country  brings,  ~ 

Than  all  her  Kings  ! 

As  lamps  high  set 
Upon  some  earthly  eminence, — 
And  to  the  gazer  brighter  thence 
15 


114  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


Than  the  sphere-lights  they  flout, — 
Dwindle  in  distance  and  die  out, 
While  no  star  waneth  yet ; 
So  through  the  pastes  far-reaching  night, 
Only  the  star-souls  keep  their  light. 


A  gentle  boy — 
With  moods  of  sadness  and  of  mirth. 

Quick  tears  and  sudden  joy — 
Grew  up  beside  the  peasant's  hearth. 
His  father's  toil  he  shares; 
But  half  his  mother's  cares 
From  his  dark  searching  eyes, 
Too  swift  to  sympathize, 
Hid  in  her  heart  she  bears. 

At  early  morn, 
His  father  calls  him  to  the  field  ; 
Through  the  stiff  soil  that  clogs  his  feet, 

Chill  rain,  and  harvest  heat, 
He  plods  all  day  ;  returns  at  eve  outworn, 
To  the  rude  fare  a  peasant's  lot  doth  yield  : 

To  what  else  was  he  born  ? 

The  God-made  King 
Of  every  living  thing, 
(For  his  great  lieart  in  love  could  hold  them  all) ; 
The  dumb  eyes  meeting  his  by  hearth  and  stall, — 
Gifted  to  nnderstand  ! — 
Knew  it  and  sought  his  hand ; 
And  the  most  timorous  creature  had  not  fled. 
Could  she  his  heart  have  read. 
Which  fain  all  feeble  things  had  blessed  and  sheltered. 


TRIBUTES   OF   THE    POETS.  115 

To  Nature's  feast — 

Who  knew  her  noblest  guest, 

And  entertain'd  him  best, 
Kinglj  lie  caine.     Iler  chambers  of  the  east 
She  draped  with  crimson  and  with  gold, 
And  pour'd  her  pure  joy- wines 

For  him  the  poet-souled, 

For  him  her  anthem  rolled, 
From  the  storm-wind  among  the  winter  pines, 

Down  to  the  slenderest  note 
Of  a  love-warble  from  the  linnet's  throat. 

But  when  begins 
The  array  for  battle,  and  the  trumpet  blows, 
A  King  must  leave  the  feast,  and  lead  the  fight. 

And  with  its  mortal  foes — 
Grim  gathering  hosts  of  sorrows  and  of  sins — 

Each  human  soul  must  close. 

And  Fame  her  trumpet  blew 
Before  him ;  wrapped  him  in  her  purple  state  ; 
And  made  him  mark  for  all  the  shafts  of  fate, 

That  henceforth  round  him  flew. 

Though  he  may  yield 
Ilard-press'd,  and  wounded  fall. 
Forsaken  on  the  field  ; 
His  regal  vestments  soil'd  ; 
His  crown  of  half  its  jewels  spoil'd  ; 
He  is  a  King  for  all. 
Had  he  but  stood  aloof! 
Had  he  array'd  himself  in  armor  proof 
Against  temptation's  darts  ! 
So  yearn  the  good ; — so  those  the  world  calls  wise. 
With  vain  presumptuous  hearts. 
Triumphant  moralize. 


116  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

Of  martyr-woe 
A  sacred  sliadow  on  his  memory  rests  ; 

Tears  have  not  ceased  to  flow  ; 
Indignant  giief  yet  stirs  impetiions  breasts, 
To  think — above  that  noble  soul  brought  low, 
That  wise  and  soaring  spirit  fooled,  enslaved — 
Thus,  thus  he  had  been  saved  ! 

It  might  not  be  ! 
That  heart  of  harmony 
Had  been  too  rudely  rent ; 
Its  silver  chords,  which  any  hand  could  wound. 
By  no  hand  could  be  tuned. 
Save  by  the  Maker  of  the  instrument. 
Its  every  string  who  knew. 
And  from  profaning  touch  His  heavenly  gift  withdrew. 

Regretful  love 

His  country  fain  would  prove, 
By  grateful  honors  lavish'd  on  his  grave; 

Would  fain  redeem  her  blame 
That  He  so  little  at  her  hands  can  claim, 

Who,  unrewarded,  gave 
To  her  his  life-bought  gift  of  song  and  fame. 

The  land  he  trod 
Hath  now  become  a  place  of  pilgrimage  ; 
Where  dearer  are  the  daisies  of  the  sod 
That  could  his  song  engage, 
Tlie  hoary  hawthorn,  wreath'd 
Above  the  bank  on  which  his  limbs  he  flung 
While  some  sweet  plaint  he  breathed  ; 
The  streams  he  wander'd  near  ; 
The  maidens  whom  he  loved  ;  the  songs  he  sung  ; — 
All,  all  are  dear ! 


TRIBUTES  OF  THE  POETS.  117 

The  arch  blue  eyes — 
Arch  but  for  love's  disguise — 
Of  Scotland's  daughters,  soften  at  his  strain  ; 
Iler  hardy  sons,  sent  forth  across  the  main 
To  drive  the  plowshare  through  earth's  virgin  soils, 

Lighten  with  it  tlieir  toils  ; 
And  sister-lands  have  learn'd  to  love  the  tongue 
In  which  such  songs  are  sung. 

For  doth  not  Song 
To  the  whole  world  belong ! 
Is  it  not  given  wherever  tears  can  fall, — 
Wherever  hearts  can  melt,  or  blushes  glow, 
Or  mirth  and  sadness  mingle  as  they  flow, 
A  heritage  to  all ! 


118  BURNS   CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 


TO  A  ROSE,  BROUGHT  FROM  NEAR  ALLOWAY  KIRK,  IN  AYRSHIRE,  IN  THE 

AUTUMN  OF  1822. 

[By  the  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  publishers,  we 
are  enabled  to  give  this  extract  from  the  poems  of  FiTZ  Greene  Halleck. 
It  was  written  many  years  since,  and  has  always  been  regarded  as  one  of 
the  noblest  tributes  paid  to  the  memory  of  Burns  by  an  American.  The 
pi'esence  of  its  distinguished  author  at  the  festival  at  the  Astor  House, 
renders  its  insertion  here  peculiarly  appropriate.] 

Wild  Rose  of  Allowa}" !  iny  thanks : 
Thou  'mindst  me  of  that  autumn  noon 

When  first  we  met  upon  "  the  banks 
And  braes  o'  bonny  Doon." 

Like  thine,  beneath  the  thorn-tree's  bough, 

Mj  sunny  hour  was  glad  and  brief. 
We've  crossed  the  winter  sea,  and  thou 

Art  withered — flower  and  leaf. 

And  will  not  thy  death-doom  be  mine — 
The  doom  of  all  things  wrought  of  clay — 

And  withered  my  life's  leaf  like  thine, 
Wild  rose  of  Alloway  ? 

Not  so  his  memory,  for  whose  sake 

My  bosom  bore  thee  far  and  long. 
His — who  a  humbler  flower  could  make 

I tn  mortal  as  his  song. 


TKIBITES   OF   THE    POETS.  II!* 

The  inemory  of  liurns — a  name 

That  calls,  when  brimmed  her  festal  cup, 

A  nation's  glory  and  her  shame. 
In  silent  sadness  up. 

A  nation's  glory — be  the  rest 

Forgot — she's  canonized  his  mind  ; 
And  it  is  joy  to  sj^eak  the  best 

We  may  of  human  kind. 

I've  stood  beside  the  cottage  bed 

Where  the  Bard-peasant  first  drew  breath  ; 

A  straw-thatched  roof  above  his  liead, 
A  straw-wrought  couch  beneath. 

And  I  have  stood  beside  the  pile, 

His  monument — that  tells  to  Heaven 

The  homage  of  earth's  proudest  isle 
To  that  Bard-peasant  given  ! 

Bid  thy  thoughts  hover  o'er  that  spot, 
Boy-Minstrel,  in  thy  dreaming  hour; 

And  know,  however  low  his  lot, 
A  Poet's  pride  and  power. 

Tlie  pride  that  lifted  Burns  from  earth, 

The  power  that  gave  a  child  of  song 
Ascendency  o'er  rank  and  ])irth, 

The  rich,  the  brave,  the  strong: 

And  if  despondency  weigh  down 

Thy  spirit's  fluttering  pinions  then, 
Despair — thy  name  is  written  on 

The  roll  of  common  men. 


120  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

There  have  been  loftier  themes  than  his, 
And  longer  scrolls,  and  louder  Ijres, 

And  lays  lit  np  with  Poesy's 
Purer  and  holier  tires  : 

Yet  read  the  names  that  know  not  death ; 

Few  nobler  ones  than  Burns  are  there ; 
And  few  have  won  a  greener  wreath 

Than  that  which  binds  his  hair. 

His  is  that  language  of  the  heart. 

In  which  the  answering  heart  would  speak, 

Thought,  word,  that  bids  the  warm  tear  start. 
Or  the  smile  light  the  cheek  ; 

And  his  that  music,  to  whose  tone 

The  common  pulse  of  man  keeps  time, 

In  cot  or  castle's  mirth  or  moan. 
In  cold  or  sunny  clime. 

And  who  hath  heard  his  song,  nor  knelt 
Before  its  spell  with  willing  knee, 

And  listened,  and  believed,  and  felt 
The  Poet's  mastery. 

O'er  the  mind's  sea,  in  calm  and  storm. 
O'er  the  lieart's  sunshine  and  its  showers. 

O'er  Passion's  moments  bright  and  warm. 
O'er  Reason's  dark,  cold  hours ; 

On  tields  where  brave  men  "  die  or  do," 
In  halls  wliere  rings  tlie  banquet's  niirtli, 

Where  mourners  wee]),  where  lovers  woo, 
From  throne  to  cottage  hearth  ? 


TRIBUTES  OF  THE  POETS.  121 


Wliat  sweet  tears  dim  the  eje  unshed, 
What  wild  vows  falter  on  the  tongue, 

When  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled," 
Or  "  Auld  Lans:  Syne"  is  suno;! 

Pure  hopes,  that  lift  the  soul  above, 
Come  with  his  Cotter's  hymn  of  praise. 

And  dreams  of  youth,  and  truth,  and  love. 
With  "  Logan's"  banks  and  braes. 

And  when  he  breathes  his  master-lay 
Of  Alloway's  witch-haunted  wall. 

All  passions  in  our  frames  of  clay 
Come  thronging  at  his  call. 

Imagination's  world  of  air. 

And  our  own  world,  its  gloom  and  glee, 
AV'it,  pathos,  poetry,  are  there. 

And  death's  sublimity. 

And  Burns — though  brief  the  race  he  ran, 
Though  rough  and  dark  the  path  he  trod, 

Lived — died — in  form  and  soul  a  Man, 
The  image  of  his  God. 

Through  care  and  pain,  and  want,  and  woe, 
With  wounds  that  only  death  could  heal. 

Tortures — the  poor  alone  can  know. 
The  proud  alunc  can  feel, 

lie  kept  his  honesty  and  truth, 
His  independent  tongue  and  pen. 

And  moved,  in  manhood  as  in  youth, 
Pride  of  his  fellow  men. 


10 


122  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

Strong  sense,  deep  feeling,  passions  strong, 
A  hate  of  tyrant  and  of  knave, 

A  love  of  right,  a  scorn  of  wrong. 
Of  coward  and  of  slave  ; 

A  kind,  true  heart,  a  spirit  high. 

That  could  not  fear  and  would  not  bow, 

Were  written  in  his  maidy  eye 
And  on  his  manly  brow. 

Praise  to  the  bard  !  his  words  are  driven. 
Like  flower-seeds  by  the  far  winds  sown, 

"Where'er,  beneath  the  sky  of  heaven, 
The  birds  of  fame  have  flown. 

Praise  to  the  man  !  a  nation  stood 
Beside  his  coffin  with  wet  eyes, 

Her  brave,  her  beautiful,  her  good. 
As  when  a  loved  one  dies. 

And  still,  as  on  his  funeral  day. 

Men  stand  his  cold  earth-couch  around. 

With  the  mute  homage  that  we  pay 
To  consecrated  ground. 

And  consecrated  ground  it  is. 

The  last,  the  hallowed  home  of  one 

Who  lives  upon  all  memories, 
Thouffh  with  tlie  buried  gone. 


•t)' 


Such  graves  as  his  are  pilgrim  shrines, 
Slirines  to  no  code  or  creed  confined- 

Thc  Delphian  vales,  the  Palestines, 
The  Meccas  of  the  mind. 


TRIBUTES  OF  THE  POETS.  123 

Sages,  with  wisdom's  garland  wreathed, 

Crowned  kings,  and  mitred  priests  of  power, 

And  warriors  with  their  bright  swords  sheathed, 
The  miglitiest  of  the  liour ; 

And  lowlier  names,  whose  humble  home 

Is  lit  by  Fortune's  dimmer  star, 
Are  there — o'er  wave  and  mountain  come, 

From  countries  near  and  far ; 

Pilgrims  whose  wandering  feet  have  pressed 

The  Switzer's  snow,  the  Arab's  sand, 
Or  trod  the  piled  leaves  of  the  West, 

My  own  green  forest-land. 

All  ask  the  cottage  of  his  birth, 

Gaze  on  the  scenes  he  loved  and  sung, 

And  gather  feelings  not  of  earth 
His  fields  and  streams  among. 

They  linger  by  the  Doon's  low  trees. 

And  pastoral  Nith,  and  wooded  Ayr, 
And  round  thy  sepulchres,  Dumfries! 

The  poet's  tomb  is  there. 

But  what  to  them  the  sculptor's  art, 

His  funeral  columns,  wreaths  and  urns? 

Wear  they  not  graven  on  the  heart 
The  name  of  Robert  Burns  ? 


124  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 


-/ 


HIS     BIRTHDAY. 

BY     OLIVEK    WENDELL    HOLMES. 

[written    for   TTIE    CENTENNIAI,   celebration   at    BOSTON-.] 

His  birthday — nay,  we  need  not  speak 
The  name  each  heart  is  beating. — 

Each  glistening  eye  and  flushing  cheek 
In  light  and  flame  repeating ! 

We  come  in  one  tumultuous  tide, — 

One  surge  of  wild  emotion, — 
As  crowding  through  the  Firth  of  Clyde 

Rolls  in  the  Western  Ocean. 

As  when  yon  cloudless,  quartered  moon 

Hangs  o'er  each  storied  river, 
The  swelling  breasts  of  Ayr  and  Doon 

With  sea-green  wavelets  quiv'er. 

The  century  shrivels  like  a  scroll, — 
The  past  becomes  the  present, — 
(And  face  to  face,  and  soul  to  soul, 
L-     We  greet  the  monarch-peasant ! 

While  Slienstone  strained  in  feeble  flights 

With  Corydon  and  Phillis, — 
While  Wolfe  was  climbing  Abraham's  Heights 

To  snatch  the  Bourbon  lilies. 


TRIBUTES   OF   THE   POETS.  125 

Who  heard  the  wailing  infant's  cry, — 

The  babe  beneath  the  shieling, 
Whose  song  to-night  in  every  skj, 

Will  shake  earth's  starry  ceiling, — 

Whose  passion-breathing  voice  ascends 

And  floats  like  incense  o'er  us, 
Whose  ringing  lay  of  friendship  blends 

With  Labor's  anvil  chorus  ? 

We  love  him,  not  for  sweetest  song  ;  . 

Though  never  tone  so  tender, — 
We  love  him,  even  in  his  wrong, — 

His  wasteful  self-surrender. 

We  praise  him  not  for  gifts  divine, — 

His  muse  was  born  of  woman, — 
His  manhood  breathes  in  every  line. 

Was  ever  heart  more  human  ? 

We  love  him,  praise  him  just  for  this  ; 

In  every  form  and  feature. 
Through  wealth  and  want,  through  wo  and  bliss, 

He  saw  his  fellow-creature ! 

No  soul  could  sink  beneath  his  love — 

Not  even  angel  blasted  ; — 
No  mortal  power  could  soar  above 

The  pride  that  all  outlasted  ! 

Ay  !  Heaven  had  set  one  living  man 

Beyond  the  pedant's  tether — 
His  virtues,  frailties,  lie  may  scan. 

Who  weighs  them  all  together  I 


126  BUKNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

I  fling  my  pebble  on  the  cairn 
Of  liim,  though  dead,  undying, 

Sweet  Natnre's  nursling,  bonniest  baini. 
Beneath  her  daisies  lying. 

The  waning  suns,  the  wasting  globe 
Shall  spare  the  minstrel's  story — 

The  centuries  wave  his  purple  robe, 
The  mountain-mist  of  Mory  ! 


TRIBUTES   OF   THE   POETS.  127 

A    TRIBXTTE, 

BY    JOHN     G.     WJUTTIEU. 

[dei.ivekeu  at  the  centexniai,  celebration  at  bostun.] 

How  sweetly  come  the  holy  psalms 

From  saints  and  martyrs  down, 
The  waving  of  triumphal  palms 

Above  the  thorny  crown  ! 
The  choral  praise,  the  chanted  j^rayers 

From  harps  by  angels  strung, 
The  hunted  Cameron's  mountain  airs, 

The  hymns  that  Luther  sung  I 

Yet,  jarring  not  the  heavenly  notes. 

The  sounds  of  earth  are  heard, 
As  through  the  open  minster  floats 

The  song  of  breeze  and  bird. 
Not  less  the  wonder  of  the  sky 

That  daisies  bloom  below  ; 
The  brook  sings  on,  though  loud  and  high 

The  cloudy  organs  blow  ! 

And,  if  the  tender  ear  be  jarred 

That  haply  hears  by  turns 
The  saintly  haq)  of  Olney's  bard, 

Tlie  pastoral  pipe  of  Burns, 
'No  discord  mars  his  perfect  plan 

Who  gave  them  both  a  tongue. 
For,  he  who  sings  the  love  of  man 

The  love  of  God  hath  sung  ! 


128  BURNS   CENTENNIAL   CELEBRATION, 


To-day  be  every  fault  forgiven 

Of  him  in  whom  we  joy  ; 
We  take,  with  thanks,  the  gold  of  heaven 

And  leave  the  earth's  alloy. 
Be  ours  his  music  as  of  spring, 

His  SM^eetness  as  of  flowers, 
The  songs  the  bard  himself  might  sing 

In  holier  ears  than  ours. 

Sweet  airs  of  love  and  home,  the  hum 

Of  household  melodies. 
Come  singing,  as  the  robins  come 

To  sing  in  door-yard  trees. 
And,  heart  to  heart,  two  nations  lean 

No  rival  wreaths  to  twine. 
But  blending,  in  eternal  green, 


The  holly  and  the  pine  ! 


TKIBUTES   OF   THE    TOETS.  12i> 


THE    BALTIMORE    PRIZE    POEM. 

IJV  THOMAS  FKASKK. 

[The  Burns  Club  of  IJultiinore,  some  time  previous  to  the  Ceiiteuary  Ci'lc- 
bration,  offered  a  Prize  for  the  best  Poem  for  the  occasion.  The  Com- 
mittee of  award,  of  whom  Ilonoraljlo  J.  P.  Kknnedv  was  Chairman, 
adjudged  the  Prize  to  Mr.  Thomas  Fkaseu,  of  Newark,  X.  J.  In  the  htter 
intimating  their  decision,  they  paid  a  high  compliment  to  the  author.  .Mr. 
Fraser  is  a  native  of  Edinburgh.  The  Scottish  American  Journal,  in  a  notic(» 
of  the  Poem,  says:  "It  is  worthy  <>f  the  great  occasion,  and  nmn'  than 
worthy  of  tliat  Scottish  muse  whicli,  when  exiled  to  these  Western  slmrcs, 
becumes  intensified  both  in  its  patriotic  and  poetic  ardor."] 

Kylk  claims  his  birth  ; — ^widc  earth,  his  name, 
Where  climes  scarce  kenii'd  yet,  peal  his  fame, 
An'  gaiiu  time  gayly  chimes  the  same 

Where'er  he  turns. 
Now,  every  true  warm  heart's  the  hame 

O'  Minstrel  llnriis  ! 

Where  Boreas  brawls  o'er  blind'rin'  snaw  ; 
Where  simmer  jinks  through  scented  sliaw  ; 
Where  westlin'  ze})hyrs  saftly  blaw. 

There  llobin  reigns  ; 
An'  even  the  thowless  Esquimaux 

Hae  heard  his  strains  I 

Dear  bonny  Doon,  clear  gurglin'  Ayr, 
Pure  At'ton  an'  the  Lugar  tair,  J 

Can  claim  his  sangs  their  ain  nae  mair. 
Sin'  lang  years  syne, 
Braw  Hudson  an'  thrang  Delaware 
Kenn'd  every  line ! 
17 


130  BURNS   CEXTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

Frae  zone  to  zone ! — where'er  we  trace 
The  clearin'  o'  the  pale-faced  race ; — 
Where  still  the  red  man  trains  the  chase 

Throngh  prairie  brake, 
E'en  there  his  sang  wi'  sweet  wild  grace 

Rings  round  the  lake  ! 

The  lone  backwoodsman,  as  he  seems 
To  ponder  o'er  his  forest  schemes. 
Hums  auld  lang  syne  among  his  dreams 

O'  far-afl'  hame, 
An'  thinks,  God  bless  him  !  that  the  strains 

Croon  Robin's  name ! 

Mothers  wha  skirled  his  sangs  when  baii-ns 
In  Carrick,  Lothian,  Merse  or  Mearns, 
Are  listenin'  now  by  Indian  cairns 

Wi'  hearts  half  sobbin', 
AVhile  some  wee  dawty  blythely  learns 

A  verse  frae  Robin  ! 

Sound  though  he  sleeps  in  death's  cauld  bower,- 
O !  what  o'  hearts  this  chosen  hour, 
Far  as  fleet  fancy's  wing  can  scower, 

In  raptured  thrangs, 
Are  thirling  wi'  the  warlock  power 

O'  Robin's  sangs. 

Frae  Alloway's  auld  haunted  aisle 
To  far  Australia's  gowd-strewn  soil ; 
And  e'en  where  India's  ruthless  guile 

Mak's  mercy  quake, 
Soul-rainglin'  there,  wortli,  wealth  and  toil 

Meet  for  his  sake. 


'I'iniUTES    OF   THE    POETS,  131 


True  hearts  at  hame — true  to  the  core, 
To  auld  Scots  bards  an'  auld  vvarld  lore, 
Are  hleiidin — as  in  scenes  o'  yore, 

Wi'  Burns  the  van — 
Love  for  braw  Clydesdale's  wild  woods  hour. 

An'  love  for  num. 

Staid  Arthur's  Seat's  grim  gray  man's  head 
Bows  to  Auld  Reekie's  requiem  reed  ; 
While  Soutra  lifts  the  wailin'  screed, 

An'  Tweed  returns 
His  plaintive  praises  o'er  the  dead. 

The  darlin'  Burns. 

Poor  dowie  Mauchline  dights  her  e'e  ; 
Kith  maunders  to  the  sabbin  sea  ; 
An'  high  on  Bannock's  far-famed  lea 

The  stalwart  thistle 
Droops  as  the  winds  in  mournfu'  key 

Around  him  rustle. 

Dark  glooms  Dumfries,  as  slowly  past 
Saunt  Michael's  growls  the  gruesome  blast. 
Where  Scotia,  pale  an'  sair  down-cast, 

Clasps  the  sad  grun 
That  haps  her  loved,  and  to  the  last 

Immoj-tal  Son  ! 

While  backward  frae  the  grave-yard  drear. 
Thought,  tremblin'  through  a  hundred  year, 
Sees  Doon's  clay  cot,  where  weel  hained  cheer. 

Shows  poortith's  joy 
When  Nature's  sel'  brought  hame  her  dear, 

Choice,  noble  bov. 


132  BURNS   CEXTENNIAL   CELEBRATION. 

But  soon  bljtlie  hope  fu'  kindly  keeks 
Within  her  wae-sunk  heart,  an'  seeks 
To  tint  her  trickling  snaw-white  cheeks 

Wi'  words  that  burn, — 
Why  !^  when  a  world  her  bard's  fame  speaks  ! 

Why  should  she  mourn  I 


Wide  though  the  great  Atlantic  rows 

His  huge  waves,  wi'  their  wild  white  pows, 

To  part  our  auld  an'  new  warld  knowes, 

Weel  pleased,  she  turns 
A  westward  look,  where  lustrous  grows 

The  name  o'  Burns  ! 

Pride,  too,  though  tear-dimmed  for  a  wee, 

May  lively  light  her  heart  wi'  glee. 

For  where,  sin'  winged  earth  first  flew  free. 

E'er  lived  the  Ian' 
That  bore  so  true  a  Bard  as  he — 

So  true  a  Man  ? 

In  him  poor  human  nature's  heart 
Had  ae  firm  friend  to  take  its  part, 
So  weel  kenn'd  he  wi'  what  fell  art 

Our  passions  goad 
Frail  man  to  slight  fair  virtue's  chart. 

An'  lose  his  road. 

An'  we,  whose  lot's  to  toil,  an'  thole, 
Thougli  cross  an'  care  harass  the  soul. 
Can  cheer  the  weary  wark-day's  dole 

Wi'  strains  heart-wrung. 
Brave  strains  !  our  J)urns,  worn,  but  heart-whole, 

Alone  has  sung. 


TRIBUTES   OF   THE   TOETS.  133 


His  words  hae  gi'en  truth  wings,  to  bear 
Hound  cnrtli  the  poor  man's  faith,  that  licru 
Vain  pride  can  ne'er  wi'  phiin  worth  peer, 

]^or  hft  aught  livin' 
Ac  foot,  though  tip-tae  raxed  on  gear, 

The  nearer  heaven. 

Fearless  for  right,  wi'  nerve  to  dare. 
Seer-like,  he  laid  his  sage  soul  hare. 
To  show  what  life  had  graven  there. 

That  earth  might  learn  ; — 
Yet,  though  a'  earth  in  Burns  may  share,  -, 

lie's  Scoiicb's  bairn  ! 

An'  O  !  how  dearly  has  he  row'd 
Her  round  wi'  glory,  like  the  gowd 
Her  ain  braw  sunset  pours  on  cloud, 

Crag,  strath  an'  river, 
Till  queen  o'  sang  she  stands,  uncowed, 

An'  ci'owned  forever ! 

Whilst  we  within  our  heart's-heart  shrine 
The  man — "  The  brither  man  !" — entwine 
Wi'  a'  the  loves  o'  auld-lang-syne! 

An'  young  to-day, 
Scotland  an^  Burns  ! — twa  names  to  shine, 

While  Time  grows  gray  ! 

Scotland  hersel' ! — wi'  a'  her  glories, 
Her  daurin'  deeds  an'  dear  auld  stories  ; 
The  great  an'  guid  wha'vc  gane  before  us ; 

Her  martyr  liost ; 
E'en  wi'  the  graves  o'  them  that  bore  us, 

The  loved  an'  lost. 


134  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

Her  sword,  that  ave  flashed  first  for  right ; 
Her  word,  that  never  craved  to  might ; 
Her  sang,  brought  down  like  gleams  o'  light 

On  music's  wings, 
To  nerve  her  in  the  lang  fierce  fight 

Wi'  hostile  kings. 

Her  laverock,  in  the  dawnin'  clouds  ; 
Her  merle,  amang  the  evenin'  woods ; 
Her  mavis,  'niang  the  birk's  young  buds  ; 

The  blytlie  wee  wren, 
An'  Robin's  namesake,  as  he  scuds 

Through  drift-white  glen. 

Her  snawdrap,  warslin'  wi'  the  sleet ; 
Her  primrose,  pearled  wi'  dewy  weet ; 
Her  bluebell,  frae  its  mountain  seat 

Beckin'  an'  bowin". 
Her  wee  gem,  sweetest  o'  the  sweet. 

The  peerless  go  wan. 

Her  waters,  in  their  sangsome  glee, 
Gurglin'  through  clench  and  clover-lea, 
Soughin'  aneath  the  saughen  tree 

Where  fishers  hide. 
An'  driftin'  outward  to  the  sea 

Wi'  buirdly  pride. 

The  catkins,  that  her  hazels  liing 

In  clusters  round  the  nooks  o'  spring ; 

Her  rowan,  an'  her  haws,  that  swing 

O'er  wadeless  streams, 
An'  bless  the  school-boy  hearts,  that  bring 

Them  liame  in  dreams. 


TRIBUTES   OF  THE   POETS.  I'^o 


Her  muirlan's,  in  their  heather  bloom ; 
Her  deep  glens,  in  their  silent  gloom  ; 
Her  gray  crags,  where  tlieir  torrents  fume 

Wi'  downward  shiver  ; 
Her  braesides,  wi'  their  thistle  plume. 

Free,  an  forever ! 

Scotland  liersel' — Heaven  bless  her  name, 
Wi'  a'  her  kith  an'  kin  the  same — 
Yes  !  Scotland's  sel',  wi'  a'  her  fame, 

Weel's  we  revere  her, 
Than  liini,  her  Bard  o'  heart  an'  hame, 

Is  scarcely  dearer ! 

So  rare  the  sway,  his  heart-strains  wield, 

In  lordly  ha'  an'  low  thack  bield, 

Wi'  manhood,  youth  an'  hoar-crowned  eild, 

O'er  Scotland  wild. 
Burns  an'  The  Word,  frae  Heaven  revealed. 

Lie  side  by  side. 

Earth  owned  !  his  genius  in  its  prime, 

Now  towers  in  mind's  fair  green-hilled  clime, 

Where,  mist-robed,  Ossian  ontsings  time. 

An'  Shakspeare  smiles, 
As  Milton,  murmurin'  dreams  sublime, 

Looks  earthward  whiles  ! 

O  !  hear  then,  Scot ! — though  yet  you  toil 
To  fill  some  lordlin's  loof  wi'  spoil. 
Or  thriving  on  Columbian  soil, 

Yoursel'  your  lord, 
Ne'er  dim  his  now  bright  tame  wi'  guile 

In  thought  or  word  ! 


136  BURNS  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION. 

Spurn  a'  tliat's  wrang,  an'  mak'  the  right 
Your  haudfast  sure,  stieve  strong  an'  tight, 
Cling  there,  an'  ne'er  let  out  o'  sight 

The  wants  o'  man. 
But,  Burns-like,  strive  his  lot  to  light 

As  weel's  you  can. 

!N^e'er  let  vile  self  get  grip,  to  twist 
What  heart  or  conscience  dictates  just ; 
Straightforward  aye  act,  though  fate's  gust 
May  take  yonr  breath  ; — 
The  man  wha  fears  nae  face  o'  dust, 
~  Keeds  scarce  fear  death. 

Proud,  stern,  though  gentle  as  the  tone 
Breathed  through  a  mother's  prayerfu'  moan, 
Burns  scorned  to  snool  round  rank  or  throne, 

Fause-tongued  an'  tame  ; — 
Till  death,  his  heart  was  freedom's  own  ; 

Be  oui's  the  same  ! 


THE    END. 


-^   •  J^'-.'^.-r^  ■ 


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